Bbbb

Checking your wrist watch, you took a deep breath, grabbed your purse with Polly’s gun inside, and left the apartment.

Tommy was leaning against the apartment building, cigarette in his mouth, when you stepped onto the sidewalk. He didn’t see you yet, so you took the opportunity to take him in.

The same thought you had a dozen times already came to mind as you stared at him: Tommy Shelby did not look like a gangster.

At least, he didn’t look like the gangsters you’d seen pictures of in your history books, who’d always wore a gruff, intimidating appearance. He seemed unique in his mixture of soft and sharp facial features and deceivingly mild frame. And of course his signature icy eyes that were haunting, but beautifully captivating in their own right.

All-in-all, the man was down-right pretty.

You wondered if this had been an advantage or a crutch for him growing up. It couldn’t have been easy to appear threatening with those cheekbones and that cute round nose. Perhaps that’s why he defaulted to the stoic, stone expression.

For a moment, you tried to imagine what pre-war Tommy might have looked like, remembering the way Ada had described him briefly as someone who used to laugh and made others laugh. It made your heart ache to think about what he must have been through to lose so much of that spark. You felt yourself reach out, taking a step forward to comfort him, before stopping yourself.

Swallowing, you stepped onto the sidewalk fully to gain his attention. “This okay?” You chanced, lifting up your arms and looking down at yourself.

Tommy pushed off the bricks and turned to face you, his eyes sweeping up from your feet to your head before dropping slightly. His expression shifted to something more reserved — a look you’d seen now enough to know what was coming. “You shouldn’t—“

”Stop,” you interrupted, lifting your finger in a point.

He huffed, shaking his head, “I can get Arthur to station some men—“

“No, Tommy. We’re not doing this again. No more pushing away, no more being over protective. We’re far past that now. Together, remember?”

There was an odd sparkling in his eyes when they met yours as his cold stare turned into a rare Tommy Shelby smile. “I remember everything.”

”Then act like it,” you replied, a smirk of your own pulling at the corner of your mouth as you lifted up the skirt of your dress. “Now, I ask again. This okay?”

He looked you over once more, this time giving you a softer look when he met your eyes, “You’ll fit right in with the other rich women in the room.”

This had been the plan – to look posh enough to blend in, but not stand out. You’d resorted to some of your modern beauty attempts, though you struggled some with the make-up you had available. The dress itself was beautiful, but subtle in its color and pattern. And you’d managed to soften your curls enough to do something better than what you had usually been doing with it – pulling pieces of it up so they wouldn’t fall into your face while the bulk of it fell down your back and over your shoulder. You still refused to cut your hair short, but you were beginning to think maybe a trim was in order.

Deep in your self-absorbed thought of how you looked, Tommy surprised you when he lifted your chin to meet his eyes again.

“It’s perfect,” he finally answered before moving his hand from your chin to your neck as he bent forward, meeting your lips to his.

Despite the sun only just starting to rise above the horizon, there were still a good amount of people hustling along the busy street. The kiss caught you off guard — most of his softer moments like this had been left for times when you’d been alone.

“Come on, then,” he said when he managed to pull away, his forehead still pressed against yours. “Charlie’s expecting us soon.”

You both walked through the early morning town together, silently. As you walked, the warm feeling you had from his kiss began to fade as something kept nagging at the back of your brain — a feeling you hadn’t been able to shake since Danny had mentioned it the night prior.

“Tommy,” you started, cautiously, feeling your brow knit. “While you’re with Grace today, be careful.”

You heard him chuckle softly beside you, “Don’t worry, love—“

”It’s not that,” you shook your head, side stepping the implied jealousy. “It’s about the men who met you in the Garrison the other day. While you were with them in the snug, I caught Grace eavesdropping at the window.”

Tommy hummed. “And why didn’t you tell me before?”

You shrugged slightly. “It didn’t seem nefarious at the time. When I confronted her, she only seemed interested in that they were also Irish. And then you didn’t seem to take much stock in them after they left. But after what Danny said—“

“The man who was shot — do you think she?—“

”I’m not saying that,” you answered, not ready to accuse someone before you had any evidence.

Plus, you had a hard time imagining someone like Grace shooting a man.

You looked down at your own hands at the thought, knowing what anyone could be capable of.

“I don’t know what she heard, but she knew they were IRA from their song, and she didn’t seem happy when I implied that she was interested in the organization.”

Tommy remained quiet.

“It could be a coincidence, or it could mean something. I should have told you—“

”Yes, you should have.”

You took a deep breath, ready for a new reason for Tommy to give you the cold shoulder.

“But you’re telling me now.”

Your head shot up to look at him, surprised by the additional statement.

“It’s something to keep an eye on. We’ll return to that later. Today, we stick to the plan. Like you said: Together, yeah?”

A small breath of relief left your lungs as you nodded. You felt his hand wrap around yours. Giving it a squeeze, you answered, “Yes.”

He continued to hold your hand until you both reached the entrance of the yard.

“Charlie, Curly,” Tommy boomed in a loud greeting as the two of you entered and approached the men. Curly was bent over the family car.

“He’s changed the oil and greased her up,” Charlie said as Tommy bent down to take a look himself.

“Will it get me all the way to Cheltenham, Curly?”

Charlie nodded for him, “He’s good with motors, but it pains him.”

Curly rose upward, shaking his head. “No heart in motorcars. I can’t talk with them.”

“Yeah, Tommy might need to make a fast getaway,” Charlie said, a bit of bite in his words. “The Lees will be all over the track. And Kimber’s men. And his coppers. They control the law down there, Tommy.”

You couldn’t help but gulp at Charlie’s words. You’d voiced the same concerns to Tommy each night, but the man was set on his plan.

“Give her a turn for me, Charlie,” Tommy said, ignoring his uncle’s comments as he got behind the wheel.

Charlie did so and the car started up. The mechanism still amused you, seeing an actual Ford Model T in mint condition; and thinking of the look on these men’s faces if they saw something like a Ferrari fire up in your time.

“This car only seats four,” you heard Charlie say. “You’ll need more men than that if you’re to come back alive.”

“It’ll just be me and a girl,” he replied, giving his uncle a smirk before looking back at you. “Take Cassie to the loading bay. You remember where to meet?”

You nodded.

Then, he was gone.

“What’s in the loading bay?” Charlie furrowed his brow at you.

You offered him a smirk, “The backup.”

By the time you and Charlie made it across the Yard, Arthur was standing on top of a crate shouting his commands at the group of men in front of him. You frowned seeing Finn amongst them, knowing that he wouldn’t be going with them but you still didn’t think he needed to be around this kind of thing. You shook your head — just another thing of this century that confounded you.

“The Lees are skimming money off the legal bookies,” Arthur was explaining to the men before him. He handed the man at the end of the line a flask. “Running chalk, selling rafflers, then beating up thems that won’t buy. But today, we’re going to stop them.”

You were quite impressed with Arthur’s command over the soldiers in front of him. You felt like you were given a rare glimpse at Arthur’s potential, and you found yourself happy for him. Even the smile on his face was enough for you to forget that he was basically giving orders to beat men up.

“What about Kimber’s men?” John asked Arthur, raising his hand up like a school boy. “I thought he had his own protection.”

“Kimber’s let his troops go rotten. They’re on the take from the Lees to look the other way.” Arthur smiled. “We’re gonna show Kimber how it should be done. Now, take what you’re good at,” he instructed as one of them opened the crate in front of him. “Those of you with guns, keep em out of it, unless a gun is pulled on you. We want this done quietly.”

Your heart leapt into your throat when little Finn picked up a knife. You took a step forward, ready to grab it out of his hand and drag him back to the Shelby house yourself — but John beat you to it. You felt a moment of relief until he replaced the knife with some kind of cleaver-looking thing.

“So when do we share out the cash?” John asked, distracting you for a moment.

“We don’t. We’re not keeping the cash. You’re in Tommy’s army now, boys. Trust only kin.”

“And what’s she doin’ here?”

All eyes turned to you, standing awkwardly at the side. Some of the men straightened up, and you swore Finn even tried to hide his weapon behind his little legs.

Arthur met your eyes, the smile on his face faltering slightly. “She’s our inside man. Gonna case the place and find out what she can about the Kimber operation. Everyone fall into the truck — Y/N, you’re up front with me.”

Without a word otherwise, you sprang forward, sending Charlie a quick silent goodbye as you followed Arthur to the truck. He waited for the all clear knock before pulling out of the Yard.

“Thanks for letting me sit up front,” you finally said after some time driving in silence.

Arthur grunted. “Tommy’s orders. Didn’t want you smellin’ like the rest of em. Need you lookin’ the part.” He looked over at you, “You do look nice.”

“Thank you,” you said, meaning it. You’d take it, he wasn’t being gross or rude. After a few moments, you decided to test the waters a little. “Excited to run the Garrison?”

He smirked, straightening his back in his seat a little, probably proud of the idea of being in charge of something. “Don’t worry, you and the other chit will still ‘ave your jobs. I never understood pubs that didn’t allow barmaids. Where’s the fun in a man servin’ ya a drink?”

”Gee, thanks,” you said slightly annoyed but with less venom than you’d prefer to give to someone who spoke to you like that. You were trying to play fair, for Tommy’s sake. At least, for now.

Arthur huffed a little, probably picking up on your sarcasm. “Besides, Tommy says you’re the brains behind the numbers. Can’t let you slack now that my name’s on the line.”

You didn’t respond to that, not sure if it was meant to be an actual compliment, or a back-handed comment. Honestly, you weren’t really sure what more you could do to prove yourself to this man, and you were beginning to think Tommy was wrong when he promised that his brother would come around eventually.

It wasn’t like you to avoid people who openly disliked you. Moving from place to place and starting over at so many schools, you’d developed no patience for passive aggression. And then working in a bar for so long, you’d learned that life was just ten times more difficult when you were trying to skate around someone’s feelings. You’d learned the best approach was to face conflict straight on, and then move past whatever it was — even if it didn’t result in the other person liking you. At least you knew each other’s standpoints and developed a mutual respect in the long run.

Ever since you landed here in this time, you’d fought against that confrontational drive. Of course it’d seeped out, especially with Tommy — but still, you’d held yourself back more often than not in an attempt to blend in or not raise attention to yourself. It’d been easier that way.

But right now, the passive approach was getting you nowhere with the eldest Shelby sibling. It was time to let a little bit of 21st century Cassie out.

“You don’t like me,” you said outright, turning your seating position to face him.

Arthur’s brow furrowed together, his head tilted as he gave you a quick glance before focusing back on the road. He cleared his throat, “Well now, who said that?”

“Your general disposition toward me,” you said with a chuckle, trying to appear non-threatening despite the topic.

He shrugged, “I don’t— well, I mean—“

“Is it because I’m not family, or is it something else?”

Arthur sucked between his teeth as he shifted in his seat. After a moment, he chanced a look back over to you, but you continued to look at him. He huffed in defeat, his shoulder slouching some as he shook his head. “I thought it was ‘cause of you.”

Your brow furrowed at that. “What was?”

He huffed again, rubbing his palms against the wheel of the car. “The change in Tommy — the Chinese, the Lees, this bloody Kimber plan. I thought it was careless — I thought it was suicide. And I thought it was yer doin’.”

He held your glare for a moment, the bump of the road beneath you the only interruption.

Finally, he pulled his eyes back to the road and gripped the wheel again. “I was wrong,” he said softly.

Despite the lack of words, you heard the apology in what he said.

“If anything,” he continued, “I think you set ‘em straight.”

You scoffed, laughing a bit, “I doubt it. Tommy’s gonna do what Tommy’s gonna do.”

He laughed at that — the first genuine sound of mirth you’d gotten from the man since you’d met. “Ain’t that the truth. But I know I’m right too. He listens to you — he thinks of the future with you in mind.”

He said the last bit with more sincerity than you’d expected. The implication made your cheeks blush slightly and you turned back to the road in an attempt to hide your discomfort. “I don’t know about that,” you said with a little less assurance than you’d had the rest of the conversation. “Like you said, I’m just good with the numbers.”

“Maybe,” he shrugged. “But I will say, you’ve got more gull than I expected when I first met ya.”

Your brow furrowed as you looked back toward him. He met your eyes, his own more serious than you’d seen before.

“I know about what you did to Hancock.”

The wash that flushed over your body was more than you were expecting. You weren’t sure why such a revelation gave you this reaction — you’d definitely imagined that the whole family knew by now what had gone down at the races with the former gang member. But this was the first time you’d had someone mention it to you, aside from Tommy. You’d half expected Polly to give you some kind of debrief (it had been her gun, after all), but it never came. No one even mentioned Benji’s name anymore.

It was like the whole thing had never happened.

“Your first kill?” Arthur asked after you didn’t respond.

Looking down at your hands, you tried to hide the cringe on your face when you thought about his use of the word first. Softly, you answered with a simple, “Yeah.”

“You were protecting Tommy.”

“He wouldn’t have needed it if it hadn’t been for me,” you finally said, meaning it.

“And you wouldn’t ‘ave been through what you had if it hadn’t been for Tommy,” Arthur pointed out, same as Tommy had the night of. He shook his head, “You can go round ‘n round with that game, love. Trust me, there’s no use in it. Point is, you proved yourself a Peaky Blinder as much as any of the men back there,” he emphasized with a thumb pointing toward the bed of the truck.

You felt the sincerity in Arthur’s words and found yourself speechless. You wondered if he was drawing on his own experiences when he told you there was no use in playing the blame game. He chanced a look over toward you, and you gave him an appreciative smile, to which he responded in kind.

Sitting in silence for a few turns of the tires, the air finally began to feel more comfortable. A weight you’d been feeling since the day you met felt like it’d been lifted.

Arthur Shelby had just called you a Peaky Blinder.

“Don’t expect me to lighten up on you at the Garrison because of this,” you said in jest, smirking when he chuckled.

“Fair enough.”

Cheltenham went exactly as planned.

Well, mostly. Kind of.

Your mission had been simple — fly under the radar, observe, find out what you could about the operation, Kimber, anything.

But of course, nothing ever went exactly as planned.

You’d gone to the restroom to freshen up before the big reception in the dance hall. A group of women were by the vanity, finishing up and paying you no mind when you approached. After they left, you realized that one of them had left behind her hat. On instinct, you’d grabbed it and hustled to catch up with the women.

“My hat!” The woman was so grateful, she grabbed on to your arm and led you back into the crowd. She explained that she’d made the hat herself back when she worked as a milliner before she married.

The woman, Alice, insisted that you follow and join her table when you mentioned that you were unaccompanied. You understood the ulterior motive when you reached the table and she sat you next to a man without a wedding ring and introduced you, excusing herself to get the two of you a drink.

“Pleasure,” the man greeted with a hand shake and a smile. He seemed nice — unsuspecting, in a way. He was dressed well, possibly a hair nicer suit than the average man in the room, with hair slicked appropriately and glasses on his face. He had a few ledgers open in front of him, a pencil in his hand. You began to wonder if he worked for the races, recognizing similar scribble patterns from some of the ledgers at the betting den. Assumptions were confirmed as men periodically approached the table, handing the man some papers that he used to add to his notebook.

You made a quip about how he must be important, which made him chuckle and set down his pencil.

“Just an accountant,” he said humbly before finally introducing himself as Henry Roberts. “It was nice of Alice to invite you to our table. She often just has her husband and I, and we make for lousy company.”

You playfully brushed him off, laying on the flirting a little stronger than normal as your eyes tried to read the scribbles of his handwriting. You clocked a few names before he held out his hand.

“Would you like to dance?”

The invitation surprised you, but when you looked for Alice, she was engaged with someone by the bar. Hoping you could maybe find out more about who this man was and what his business was with the races, you accepted.

The dance floor was packed, much more so than the previous race reception that you’d been to with Tommy. The memory of the day sent a small shiver down your spine, but you brushed it aside to play the role you were here to play. So you painted on a smile and let Henry spin you around.

The song ended, and instead of continuing to the next, he led you back to the table. Alice was back in her seat, a drink in her hand and a sour look on her face. When she saw you, she brightened a little and pushed the seat next to her out for you to sit. Unfortunately, it was across the table from Henry and his papers.

“I don’t pay you to fuck around, Roberts,” said the man sitting on Alice’s other side. “Even if they’re as pretty as this one.”

You could feel your face begin to show your displeasure at the intended compliment when you masked it, providing a tight smile instead.

“Sandra,” Alice greeted, using the undercover name you’d chosen for the event, “this is my husband.” She set down her drink and addressed the man sitting between her and Henry. “I’ve invited her to join me today. Alright?”

The man grunted, leaning back in his chair and showing his disinterest.

Henry’s head was back down into his books, and you were beginning to wonder if you’d saddled yourself to a dead end, when Alice’s husband spotted someone in the crowd.

“Roberts, the Peaky Blinders are here.”

Your heart jumped at the mention, picking up the glass in front of you and taking a sip to try and hide any microexpression you may have just let slip.

But it seemed no one at the table was paying you any mind. Henry rose his head from his ledger and looked in the same direction, a small smirk pulling at his mouth. “I told you, Mr. Kimber. He’s got some balls, that one.”

Mr. Kimber, you repeated to yourself, your eyes looking back at Alice’s husband. Billy Kimber, the man himself. Unknowingly, you’d befriended Mrs. Kimber and was sitting at the very table of the man Tommy had wanted you to find out as much as you could about.

“And she’s got some body, that one.”

You couldn’t control your face fast enough to hide the furrow of your brow at the gross comment from Mr. Kimber, especially right in front of his wife, who seemed completely unfazed as she downed the rest of her own drink and signaled for another.

You took the opportunity to turn in your seat. Your eyes scanned the crowd until they saw the flash of red and yellow.

Tommy and Grace were on the dance floor, and for a moment, you felt like you couldn’t breathe.

It was innocent, you reminded yourself quickly. This was the plan.

You knew Tommy had intended to parade Grace around at the reception with the full intention of getting Kimber’s attention.

But talking about it and seeing it were two different things.

Even from your seat, you could see the smile on Grace’s face as she moved across the dance floor in Tommy’s arms. You tried not to compare yourself, but damn it if Grace wasn’t beautiful. Especially in the dazzling red dress.

You thought about your own time dancing with Tommy. Both times you’d been clumsy, needing him to help you move across the room. In front of you, he and Grace moved so in sync with the music and among the crowd. You could see the small smile on the side of Tommy’s face and your chest tightened despite yourself.

“Are we still on the same page about his proposal?” You heard Henry ask Kimber.

The comment brought you back to yourself as you turned your attention back to the table, doing your best to pretend like you weren’t interested in their conversation.

“He has a point about our men, we’ve been losing up to twenty percent of our revenue since the Lees. And it’s getting worse.”

Kimber grunted, a snarl pulling at his mouth at the comment. Instead of addressing him, he asked about today’s numbers so far. Engrossed in committing as much as what they were saying to memory, you jumped when a loud thud hit the table on the empty space next to you.

A heavy bag was dropped, causing you to turn just as another heavy bag was added to the pile. The last bag fell over and coins began to pool onto your plate, some spilling into your lap. You looked up to the source, meeting Tommy’s eyes as he stood at the table.

“Apologies, Miss.”

Your mouth snapped shut as he turned his attention back to the men at the table.

“Your money, Mr. Kimber. Rescued from the Lee brothers, and returned to you with a request for a fair hearing.”

With that, Tommy took the empty seat between you and Henry while pulling out a cigarette from his jacket pocket.

“Your protection is failing, Mr. Kimber,” he continued. “Your boys are taking cuts. I want to suggest that from now on you contract out your racetrack security to the Peaky Blinders. We’d be saving you a lot of money, Mr. Kimber. A lot of money. In return, you give us five percent of the take and three legal betting pitches at every race meeting north of the River Severn, rising to six after one year if we are all satisfied with the service.”

Henry looked between Tommy and Kimber cautiously.

“What do you say, Mr. Kimber?”

Kimber’s expression had remained unreadable since Tommy’s interruption, now looking instead past him and into the crowd.

Finally, he spoke. “I say you talk business with my accountant. I want to dance.”

He started to stand and you turned toward Alice, expecting her to follow him. Instead, he began to walk around the other side of the table and toward the bar counter. Straight for Grace. Kimber held out his hand to the barmaid, who sent a quick glance to Tommy before accepting his hand. You swore she looked at you as well, but the motion was so quick you weren’t positive.

You felt completely uncomfortable.

Alice continued to sit quietly next to you, drinking and smoking as if nothing weird was happening. She wasn’t initiating conversation, or even moving to leave her seat. It made you wonder how often something like this happened for her. How often she had been expected to just sit quietly and look pretty, let her husband and the men do all the talking. It was such a contrast to the way Tommy did business. Sure, he still had some of the internalized misogyny of his time, but for the most part Polly, Ada, and yourself were not quiet and often listened to just as seriously as the men.

“How many men can you put in the field at one time?” Henry asked Tommy.

“There’s a lot of men out of work at the moment. Two guards for every bookie.”

“At every meeting?”

“We have contacts with good people among the gypsies. We’ll always know when the Lees plan to attack. With all the strikes and troubles, you can’t really depend on the police. Anyway, we’re more honest.”

Henry smirked as Kimber approached the table.

“Looks like you two are making a deal,” he said as he stood between you and Tommy.

Henry nodded, “We are making progress.”

“Then let me throw a small condition into the mix,” Kimber leaned down to the table. He lowered his voice at his request, though it was still loud enough for you to hear. “I want your barmaid. Two hours. You can collect her at my home when I’m done.”

Tommy lifted his eyes, catching yours briefly before turning to look back toward Grace in the crowd. He nodded, then stood up and went to deliver the news.

“Throw him a bone,” Kimber said to Henry after Tommy left. “We see what we can milk from him and his men for now, but I don’t trust the gypsy bastard. If he’s right about our men, I want them punished.”

Henry nodded as Kimber walked away, meeting Tommy as the latter left Grace at the bar.

“Excuse me,” you said softly, mostly to Alice, who hadn’t seemed to be phased by anything. “Powder room.”

You rounded the ballroom as you watched Kimber and Tommy speak briefly before Kimber approached Grace, who looked rightfully perturbed, though you doubted Kimber noticed.

Trying to be discreet, you moved to a secluded area of the ballroom and watched Tommy, now alone, look around the room. You realized he was looking for you when his eyes finally met yours. He looked around briefly before walking over toward you, standing close enough for you to speak to each other but not directly facing one another.

“You can’t let her go with that man,” you said quietly, sipping on your drink conspicuously as you watched the room to make sure no one was watching you.

“That was the point of bringin’ her — catch his attention, distract him even, if necessary. This was always a possibility,” he replied, still facing away from you. “Does he plan to honor the deal?”

“Yes, for now.”

“Then it’s worth it.”

You scoffed. “She’s our responsibility, Tommy. You know he’s going to go after her.”

“Weren’t you the one who was suspicious of her just this morning?”

“Suspicion doesn’t equal guilt. And even if she was, it doesn’t mean I want her to get assaulted,” you said sharper than you should have. You took a drink of the glass in your hand in an attempt to blend back in.

“She’s doing a job.”

“Like I am?” You countered. “What if it was me?”

Tommy huffed before walking away, returning to the table Henry and Alice now sat alone at.

You let out your own frustrated breath before turning in the opposite direction, this time actually making your way to the bathroom.You stood at the vanity and tried to take a deep breath.

“Oh, there you are,” you heard Alice say as she entered the bathroom soon after. “I was hoping to catch you before I left.”

You slipped back into your mask, returning your smile. “Oh, you’re leaving already?”

“Unfortunately. My husband has found himself a new plaything and I’m to keep the man she arrived with company. At least this one is attractive.” She checked her reflection in the mirror, her own expression stoic as she said the words, obviously used to the actions of her husband. She put her hat back on, running her fingers across the brim meaningfully. “Thank you again for returning my hat, it really does mean a lot to me.”

“It’s a beautiful hat,” you said as you watched her admire the piece in the mirror.

For the first time that evening, you saw beyond the stone expression of a woman hardened by the abusive actions of her husband. Her eyes seemed to gloss over, as if she were reliving some long ago memory. The memory passed as she cleared her throat, turning her attention back to you.

“I hope you enjoyed some of your time with us. I was impressed with the way you caught Henry’s interest. You got him to dance — that’s more than any other woman who has tried to catch his eye at one of these events can say. He’s a nice man, very stable, a good suitor.” She checked her watch and murmured that she needed to go, but not before she snagged another drink.

You followed her out the bathroom and said your goodbyes. Before you could return to the main room, you felt a tentative hand on your arm.

“I was hoping to catch you before I left,” Henry greeted kindly. “I have to finish collecting the rest of the earnings. I wanted to give you this.”

He handed you a piece of paper. You opened it and found his name and an address. As you were looking down, Henry leaned over and kissed your cheek.

“I’d love to get to know you more. Good day, Sandra.”

You exchanged a goodbye and found yourself touching your cheek, feeling wrong in the deception. He did seem like a decent man.

Your eyes scanned the room before spotting Alice at the exit, Tommy holding the door open for her. His eyes were already on you, his mouth in a hard line and expression stoic as he finally followed Mrs. Kimber out.

If he had been watching you long, he would have seen your exchange with Henry, and the kiss. You wondered if his ill look had anything to do with that, or the conversation you’d had over Grace. It was still under an hour since Kimber and her had left, you wondered if Tommy was going to stick to his deal or sympathize with your plea.

At their exit, you folded the piece of paper and put it in your bag, then looked around the ballroom at the party still underway. Knowing that there was no one left for you to try to get anything out of, you decided it was time to meet Arthur back at the van.

Arthur dropped the van off at the Yard where you and the other men unloaded. Knowing that Tommy wouldn’t be expected for at least another hour, you decided to walk back to your apartment.

Walking past the Garrison, you were surprised to see Grace smoking a cigarette just outside the entrance. You made eye contact from across the street and you wondered if you should go over and talk with her. It was earlier than it should have been if Tommy had given Kimber the full two hours promised. You started to move toward that direction when she dropped her stick to the ground and turned to go back inside. Taking that as your cue that she didn’t want to talk, you continued on, wondering instead if you should try to find Tommy back at his home.

Spotting his car parked outside of your apartment building, you knew that you didn’t need to.

Tommy was sitting on the steps leading up to your apartment.

“You were right.”

You didn’t respond, instead walking past him to open your door, leaving it open for him to follow you inside.

“I got there before anything bad happened.”

“Did he call off the deal?” you wondered, grabbing your new bottle of whiskey from the shelf and pouring two glasses.

Tommy shook his head. “I told him she was a whore and had the clap.”

“Oh god,” you couldn’t help but chuckle at the idea, while at the same time still feeling sorry for Grace and understanding more her attitude from a moment ago. “And that didn’t make him more angry?”

“I told him that my conscious got the better of me and I couldn’t risk letting him get syphilis–”

“Wait, isn’t the clap gonorrhea?”

“Doesn’t matter,” he shook his head. “He bought it and the deal stands. Grace was angry but thankful I changed my mind.”

“Thank you,” you said thoughtfully, giving him a thankful smile before handing him his glass. “I was able to make out a few of the names from Roberts’ ledger and from his conversation with Kimber, as well as numbers on volume of intake.”

Tommy took a sip of his glass. “That wasn’t all you managed to get. I see your dancing has improved since the last time.”

You gave him a pointed look. “I was enacting the plan. Just the same as the way you and Grace seemed to enjoy yourselves on the very same dance floor.”

Tommy seemed to chuckle at that, approaching you as he set his glass down. He lifted his hands to your face, his thumb swiping softly at your cheek, his look turning serious again. “I didn’t like someone else touching you.”

“Neither did I,” you admitted, your eyes looking down at his hand, the same one that’d held Grace’s hand as they danced. You lifted it and lightly moved your fingers across his.

He smiled at that, lifting your chin in a similar way he had this morning. This time when his lips met yours, you were ready. You wrapped your arms around his neck as you returned his kiss, feeling his arms tighten around your waist as he pulled you into him.

Pulling his lips away for a moment, he whispered, “I’m staying tonight.”

“Finally.”

Tsu’tey wasn’t oblivious to your nurturing personality.

Usually, you looked expressionless or particularly annoyed. Now, this rare thing appeared on your face.

He didn’t know why he was so intrigued by your expression. Or why he found himself faltering around you these days.

“Is that her?” Tsu’tey asked, eyes never leaving the two of you.

You nodded as you grabbed what looked like a makeshift sling and strapped it across your chest.  “Grace’s avatar went into labor hours ago before the storm hit.” You picked her up and tucked her in the sling.

Tsu’tey’s face instantly softened at the way the infant snuggled into your chest. His heart lurches at how precious this child—his child, appeared.

And it didn’t—but it should’ve—bother him that she was so comfortable with you. But seeing you caress her head absentmindedly as Tsu’tey led you and the infant out of the shack and toward his ikran, Rai’uk.

You slowed as Tsu’tey approached the ikran. You frowned, “What about pa’li?” You felt the little one against your chest, and your stomach twisted uneasily. “She was just born, don’t you think it’s too soon?”

Half of you expected him to hiss back at you as usual, but instead, he frowned, looking from you to the baby with a contemplative expression.

“It is faster.” Tsu’tey insisted as he climbed onto his ikran. In Na’vi, he said, “Still has much to learn. Can’t even carry a baby correctly.”

You frowned, “You try running from a bunch of warriors with a newborn attached to you.”

Tsu’tey’s ears perked in restrained surprise. “You understand me?”

“I have been learning.” You pointed out in okayish Na’vi. “I can listen better than talk.”

He looked at you, appearing unimpressed. “You are still not good.”

“I did just fucking say I was still learning.” You snapped halfheartedly, too tired to fight him.

Thankfully, Tsu’tey didn’t push as he flicked his head, a gesture that meant for you to get closer. “Get on. We need to go back to the village, so she is safe.”

You still hesitated, unconsciously pulling her closer as you studied the ikran just as it studied you.

Tsu’tey noticed this and frowned. “I will not let you fall, dreamwalker. Nor the infant. You are safe with Rai’uk and I.”

You raised your brows despite getting closer. “You sure you haven’t thought about it before?”

 “Many times.” There was a smug look on his face as he offered his hand.

“Ha ha.”

The white crescent smile was foreign on his face, to you at least. It was nice, weirdly enough. A pleasant change from his usual scowl.

So, you carefully got on. Tsu’tey guided you to the front as he sat behind you. After making sure she was tucked safely in your chest, the ikran took off.

It was different than how you rode with Neytiri.

While she had you clutching to her from behind, Tsu’tey had you and the little one seated at the front. And he was right about having a secure hold on you, making sure that you didn’t fall off from the quick turns and the fast speed of the flight. You hugged the little one closer to your chest and squeezed your eyes shut from the wind.

The journey wasn’t long, thankfully. Fortunately, the shack you had hid yourself in wasn’t far from First Base. And it helped that the skies were clear.

Once Tsu’tey landed his ikran in a tree next to Mo’at’s hut, he got off first. Carefully, you attempted to slide off on your own, but Tsu’tey seemed adamant to help you and the child as he placed a hand on the small of your back and the other grabbed your free arm to guide you off.

He was surprisingly gentle, but you supposed that was so as not to disturb the infant who was looking at her surroundings through her squinted eyes.

“She is waiting inside.” Tsu’tey nodded to the hut.

The infant squirmed in your strap to get a better look at Tsu’tey when she heard his voice. He met her curious gaze with a soft smile.

“Hmm,” You hummed lightly. “The clan leader does have a heart after all.”

He responded with a grunt, wiping the smile off his face quickly as you made your way toward the hut. “Do not get used to it, dreamwalker.”

You entered the hut with Tsu’tey close behind you. Mo’at looked up as you entered, appearing both impressed and surprised. “Eywa has truly favored you, dreamwalker.” She gestured for you to come closer. “Let me see her.”

Carefully, you removed the small infant from your makeshift carrier, kneeling beside Mo’at and handing her over. She fussed a bit at this, but you gently comforted her as Mo’at held her. “Ssh, little one. You’re in good hands, okay?”

But the little one did not let go of your thumb. Fussed even more when you tried to get her to let go.

Mo’at shook her head. “Keep it there. She likes your presence.”

Tsu’tey then came over, almost as if hesitant. He knelt in front of Mo’at, that tenderness replacing his hardened features. You watched, unsure of what to do. He was meeting his daughter for the first time. And you just felt like you were intruding.

Gently, he reached forward and brushed the little hairs on her head. “She’s beautiful.”

You nodded in agreement, frowning at how delicately and hesitantly he was acting. “What is it?” Tsu’tey’s ears twitched, but he didn’t respond. Still hesitating to hold her. “Is it because she is half Sky Person?”

That spurred him, causing him to look at you with a defensive scowl. “It is not—”

“Then what are you afraid of?” Gently, you took the infant from Mo’at. The infant herself was more than willing to be in your arms as you gestured for him to open his arms. “Hold your new daughter, Tsu’tey.” With that, you placed her in his arms. “I didn’t get chased by angry warriors just so you would be scared to hold a baby.”

Tsu’tey sent you a small scowl at your bluntness but held her close to his chest, nonetheless. She didn’t fuss, thankfully. Mo’at shifted over to thoroughly check on her.

You watched again, quietly sitting away from them. You watched as Tsu’tey eventually began to smile down at her while she continued watching him curiously and looking at you every time you shifted or moved.

Your smile for her was small and subtle. “That’s your dad, little one. You’re pretty safe with him.”

Tsu’tey met your gaze and nodded to you. You returned his nod just as the flaps at the entrance fluttered, two more bodies entering the hut.

“Tanhi!”

You pushed to your feet as Neytiri rushed over and brought you into a tight hug. “Thank the Great Mother!”

You patted her back, “Yeah, I’m okay. Don’t worry, my luck hasn’t run out yet.”

“Yeah, you’re one lucky skxawng,” Jake commented as he drew closer. He looked relieved, exhausted, and annoyed.

Neytiri pulled away slightly, scanning your no doubt dirtied and bruised face. “Are you sure—”

You nodded quickly, “I’m sure, no need to worry about me. If anything, you should probably go and meet your new daughter.”

At that, Neytiri looked past you and gasped softly before joining Tsu’tey on the floor to get a better look at the infant.

Jake appeared beside you as you both watched Neytiri and Tsu’tey with her. The gentle expression was easy for Jake.

And by then, you knew your job here was done.

You patted Jake’s shoulder. “Take good care of her, she’s all yours now.

Jake looked at you by then, his expression unreadable.

“Where’s your dagger?” He asked, his voice raspy.

“Back at Hell’s Gate.”

“Reeds—”

You held your hands up. “Hey, scold me later. Go meet your daughter, Sully. I didn’t get chased through a forest for nothing.”

Jake’s face hardened. “You were chased—”

“Not important.” You started for the flaps. “I’ll leave you guys with her.”

With that, you stepped out of the hut. Sitting further away on a large branch was Norm, hunched over.

You jumped down onto the branch, and Norm snapped his head up at you in surprise. “Hey! Oh my god, you’re here!” He leaped up and hugged you tightly, surprising you. “Shit, I thought—are you okay?”

You patted his arm awkwardly. “Yes, Norm, I’m fine. The baby’s fine too.”

He sighed in relief and eventually let you go. “How many near deaths is that now? Two? Three?”

“Five, I think.”

“Shit, man.”

You nodded and sat on the branch. Norm mirrored you, ending up beside you. “I’m exhausted, Spellman.”

“I know. I am too.”

For a moment, the two of you just sat there. Staring at nature. The other huts, Children running about. And for the first time in weeks, the sun was out. Making everything beautiful again. But a certain tension remained.

You sighed and massaged your face. “Were you able to unlink yet?”

Norm nodded. “Max and the others were locked in the link room before Jake and Neytiri lured the warriors away to try and establish some sort of truce.” He sighed, already looking lost in his thoughts. “But we lost people on both sides. It’s not going to be easy.”

“No shit.” You chewed the inside of your cheek. “I’m pissed, though. I had a baby with me, and they wouldn’t stop.”

Norm squeezed your shoulder. “You did good, Reeds. She’s safe because of you. That’s what matters.”

You didn’t say anything to that. Instead, you picked at the bark of the tree until your fingers brushed over something cool and small. You picked it up and held it in your hands for a moment before tucking it in your pocket.

“Reeds.”

You and Norm turned to find Jake approaching, his expression unreadable. “We need you back inside.”

With a frown, you got up and followed Jake back inside Mo’at’s hut where you heard an infant’s cry.

Upon entering, you found Neytiri now holding the infant, but she wouldn’t stop crying in the woman’s arms. Her cries were similar to when she first came out of the womb.

“Okay,” Jake said as he went to sit with Neytiri and Tsu’tey. He looked to Mo’at, “She’s here, what now?”

“Come, dreamwalker.” Mo’at gestured for you to come closer. “Neytiri, give the child to her.”

Without hesitating, Neytiri handed the infant over to you.

“Get her to stop.” Mo’at gestured expectantly.

You furrowed your brows but began rocking her in your arms. “Are you all not parents? None of you can get her to stop crying? Seriously?”

“Reeds,” Jake warned.

“I’m just wondering how out of the four of you, you all couldn’t calm a baby down.”

Tsu’tey scowled. “You don’t even hold a baby right, you cannot judge.”

You rolled your eyes while rubbing your thumb between the infant’s brows. “This is how I hold a baby; you’re just petty.”

Tsu’tey glared before turning to Mo’at. “Why did you bring her back, Tsahik?”

This time, it was Mo’at who rolled her eyes. “Look with your eyes, boy. I cannot force you to see.”

Finally, the four of you noticed how quiet the little one had gotten. You looked down to find her staring up at you through droopy eyes.

She was quiet in your arms.

Jake frowned. “How did you do that?”

“What was that you did to her? Just now?” Neytiri asked as she stood and joined your side.

You shrugged. “My mother used to do it to me when I was young. It always calmed me down and I figured I’d try it out when she wouldn’t stop crying in the infirmary. Watch.”

You sat back down on the floor and happened to be sitting next to Jake as you handed her over to him. You gently thumbed a small circle between her brows for Jake to see. “Do that when she starts crying.” You moved to take your thumb back, only she grabbed it back in her small hands. “Though, of course, you still have her clinginess to deal with.”

“She likes you.” Jake chuckled as she squirmed in his arms.

You shook your head despite how your heart fluttered when she didn’t let go of you. “I’ve spent the most time with her. She’ll be attached to you all before you know it.”

“But until then, dreamwalker, I need you here with her. It seems that with you in proximity, or rather in the same room, she is calm. And I need her this way as I take a look at her.” Mo’at looked at Tsu’tey, who was sitting across from you with a frown. “Will that be a problem, Olo’eyktan?”

He didn’t seem happy about it as he stood.

“Tsu’tey,” Neytiri warned, shifting closer to you as he set his eyes upon you.

Jake tensed next to you, but all you did was return the man’s stare expectantly. Waiting.

There was no sound in the hut. Just the two of you in that moment.

Finally, Tsu’tey lifted his chin. “Do what you want. But I want her watched.”

The three of you were obviously surprised by his acceptance. While reluctant, you were half expecting him to fight you on it.

But instead, he grabbed his bow and left the hut.

“Huh,” Jake hummed next to you. “I think he’s warmed up to you, too.”

“She grows on you, huh?”

Tsu’tey looked up from sharpening his spear to find Jake standing in the doorway of their hut with a knowing look on his face. 

With a small huff, Tsu’tey continued his sharpening, “I don’t know what you are talking about.”

His mate gave a short laugh as he soon joined him at his side, pressing a kiss to the side of his face. “She’s good with the little one. There’s no denying that.”

“Hmmph.”

Jake placed his hand on Tsu’tey’s shoulder and squeezed it, “I know you don’t like her here, with everything going on, we might just have to tolerate it for the time being. Besides, having her here isn’t as bad as you thought, is it?”

Instead of responding to that, Tsu’tey placed the spear down. “Have you been training her?”

“Yes, I have.” Jake nodded.

“And how is she?”

Jake hummed, “She’s good with a bow, not The People’s way, but she’s efficient. It’s a wonder she managed to survive Tipani’s warriors twice now.”

“But it is not enough.” Tsu’tey frowned at the spear, his grip tightening. “This fight between clans will not end soon. She is a Sky Person, their target. She must know how to defend herself well. Yes, she did protect Eywa’s blessing, our daughter, but that alone will not guarantee her safety.”

Jake was watching him, considering him, “I thought you didn’t care about what happens to her? What changed your mind?”

Instead of answering that, Tsu’tey stood, “There’s no ignoring Eywa’s favor. Nor the Tsahik’s words. She has saved my brother. She kept our daughter safe. Her soul is complex despite her belonging to the enemy clan. I cannot ignore this. What leader would I be if I did?”

For a moment, Jake watched him with a fond smile, “Then you would be the leader Eytukan always saw in you.”

Hearing that grounded Tsu’tey—his mates always did. His son always did. The people who were with Eywa now did. 

Tsu’tey returned the smile, although his was smaller and more somber, “Then that is good.”

A comfortable silence settled between them. Tsu’tey took his spear and rested it with the rest of his weapons. Jake remained seated on the floor, gaze cast down. He watched his mate quietly, trying to decipher this Jake Sully. Wondering which part of his mate he would be getting this time.

“Do you really think she’s meant to be our fourth?” Jake asked quietly, a look of uncertainty crossing his usual confident and guarded features. “Or do you think there’s more to it?”

Tsu’tey paused before responding, “I do not know how the Great Mother thinks. No one does. If she were to be our fourth, then I would mate with her. I am the Olo’eyktan. I must be the example for my people. But perhaps that is not what Eywa has in store for her.” He frowned thoughtfully. “Perhaps that is why she did not accept my proposal.”

Jake snapped his head up at him, eyes wide, “You proposed?!”

“Yes. When the Tshaik spoke of it, I thought I was performing my duties as a child of the Great Mother. But the dreamwalker refused me. She did not think that she was meant to be our mate—she thought I would be tortured by the idea of mating with her and so rejected my proposal.”

After recovering from his shock at the new piece of information, Jake frowned, clearly put off by this. “I thought that when—if we found a fourth, it would be a decision we’d come to together. What if she accepted it, Tsu’tey? How do you know that Neytiri and I would’ve accepted her?”

“Or if you would’ve accepted her.” Tsu’tey corrected, causing Jake’s frown to deepen. 

He was caught, and he knew it. 

There was no denying Jake and the dreamwalker’s complex relationship. One moment they hated each other, and the next they tolerated each other enough that it would be mistaken that they were friends. 

What a strange interaction between humans. Going back and forth as much as they did. 

Tsu’tey saw it clear as day, Neytiri probably saw it too—it was only Jake who was so oblivious to it. 

“Tell me, yawne.” Tsu’tey approached his mate and knelt down in front of him, cupping his face between his hands. “You know my dislike for her kind. But why is it that you seem to hate her even when you both share the same clan?”

Jake looked startled at the accusation, “I-I don’t hate her. Not after everything she’d done for Arvok and our daughter. I just—Artsut can barely accept me as your mate. What makes you think she won’t go fucking crazy over Reeds being our fourth?”

“If it comes to that, my mother cannot interfere. She knows as well as the rest of us that she can’t deny the Great Mother’s way.”

“And what if we can’t love her?”

Tsu’tey frowned and grabbed his hand. “It is whatever the Great Mother decides.“

“Yeah,” Jake chuckled, squeezing Tsu’tey’s hand, “I was afraid you’d say that.”

Night had come at some point. You hadn’t left Mo’at’s hut nor put the little one down since Jake had given her to you before leaving.

When had you become a glorified babysitter, you didn’t know.

While she slept in your arms, you held a long grass piece with a box of beads next to your leg. Currently, you were trying to choose a bead to start your songcord. You already knew what it would represent; all that was left was finding the bead that matched.

Mo’at sat further away, mixing something in her bowl. You never realized how peaceful it was in her hut. If you could, you would stay here as long as you could.

Neytiri entered the hut with Neteyam strapped to her chest. She smiled at you as she joined you on the floor. “Can I?” she asked, gesturing to the sleeping infant.

You nodded and gently handed her over without disturbing the sleeping infant. Fortunately, she only squirmed a bit before settling comfortably in her arms. Neytiri’s smile grew. “What a blessing you are.”

The three of you continued sitting comfortably in silence.

You continued your search until you stumbled upon a white bead that looked eerily similar to a bone at the end of your mother’s songcord. You added it to the grass string.

“Waytelem.” You looked to find Neytiri staring at your string curiously. “You have started your songcord.”

Blushing, you nodded. “Yeah, figured I’d start at some point.”

Neytiri smiled, resting her free hand on your knee. “And you have chosen your first bead?”

“For my mother.” You frowned at it for a bit while glancing at your mother’s songcord now wrapped around your wrist like a bracelet. “When she went to Eywa. I guess it kind of represents how much my life has changed. From the forest burning down, the RDA bringing me to Pandora, and seeing my mother’s grave. A different me. A different phase of my life.”

Neytiri gently rubbed your knee and squeezed it. “You are learning. That is why you change. I will keep teaching you our ways. Soon, you could be one of us.”

“But you are not one of the People, dreamwalker.”

You and Neytiri look up to find Tsu’tey and Jake entering.

Tsu’tey lifted his chin high. Not unless I say so. I will now see to your training and judge your progress.”

You couldn’t help the exaggerated dread set in.

Jake smiled at Neytiri and the babes as he sat with them, taking Neteyam in his arms. You glared at him. “Tired of me already, that you threw me to the wolves?”

He rolled his eyes and rested Neteyam against his chest. “I’ll still be there. Tsu’tey’s just gonna lead more.”

Now the dread set in. “Oh, it just keeps getting better.”

You found another bead as Jake scoffed. “It’s not like you’re a picnic either.”

“Says the masochist.”

“Aargh!” Neytiri hissed at both of you. “Enough. The babies are asleep. If you are loud, then you leave!”

Jake pulled his lips into a frown, but obliged while you went back to look through the beads.

“What do you think we should name her?” Jake asked after a while. Tsu’tey joined them on the floor, taking the spot next to him. “We can’t keep calling her Grace’s kid or little one for long. What about Cheryl?”

You scoffed. “If you want her to have a hard life, then just say that, Sully.”

Neytiri shook her head and sent her mate a look. “We are not calling her that.”

After sending you a quick glare, Jake sighed, “Fine. Sarah?”

“Why is Sully naming the kid?” You murmured, earning a light smack on your knee from Mo’at, who had been silent.

Jake scowled, “And you can come up with something better?”

“Better than Cheryl or Sarah? Absol—fucking—utely.”

“Not over the children,” Neytiri chided at you both again before looking at the infant in her arms. “Tua. We should call her Tua.”

Jake raised his brows at the name, “Tua? That’s pretty.” But he didn’t look too convinced by it. “Little Tua. I guess you win again with the names.”

Sure as hell better than Cherly or whatever the fuck that name was—was what you wanted to say, but you refrained this time.

Tsu’tey, who had been in the discussion, suddenly spoke. “On the day she was born, I saw the atokirina. Many of them. They led me to a place where the dreamwalker was hiding with the little one. Eywa led me straight to her. The little blessing. A gift from the Great Mother.”

You picked up a bead quietly. An indigo-colored thing that reminded you of poison. This one would represent your death as a human.

Instead of adding it to your songcord, you stared down at it for a long while.

“Kiri,” Tsu’tey said gently. “What about Kiri?”

You didn’t see Jake or Neytiri’s reactions, but their voices made their decision clear.

“Little Kiri.” Neytiri probably smiled.

“Yeah, I like that,” Jake added after a pause.

Kiri soon began to fuss.

That was when you looked up from the bead to find Neytiri attempting to calm her down.

“Do you want me to try?” You asked carefully as you tied your songcord around your right wrist and pocketed the bead.

Neytiri didn’t hesitate to give Kiri to you. You took her in your arms and stood, rocking her.

Her fussing went on for a bit, her fingers grasping bits of your hair. You hummed a quiet tune to her, rubbing her back in small circles.

You did this until she eventually calmed down, putting one of your braids in her mouth.

“I know. I get sad too sometimes.” You say quietly for only her to hear. “I don’t like my next bead, you know. Want to be on my songcord? I like experiencing you better.” A small noise came out of her in response as she nuzzled against your shoulder. “Kiri’s a cooler name for you, anyway, don’t you think?” She just kept sucking on your braid.

In the moment, you had forgotten where you were. Too wrapped up in Kiri that you missed the way Neytiri’s eyes glistened at the sight of you. Or how Jake couldn’t tear his eyes away from you, almost as if you had bewitched him in a trance. And how Tsu’tey just appeared somewhat okay—content with this domestic scene. Finally, at peace and away from the chaos. In the back of his mind, he began to wonder when you had become a part of that peace.

All four of them missed how Mo’at saw them. How she’s seen it all since the beginning.

He presses the comms against his neck as you start moving away from the wreck together. "Neytiri, Neytiri. Come in, Neytiri."

Static.

His brow furrows, he tries again. "Neytiri. Come in, Neytiri. Lo'ak? Come on answer me, boy. Come in, Lo'ak."

Nothing. The silence stretches too long.

You walk, away from the fire, away from the broken ship, into more scorched undergrowth and half-burned vines that drip sap and moisture like blood. The forest smells wrong, charred and angry. They had been wanting to show you the forests that they came from — but not like this. Never like this...

Jake keeps trying comms. Again. Again. Each unanswered call tightens something in his face. "She should answer. Neytiri— at least, should answer..." He mutters, not quite to you. "She always..." He cuts himself off with a breath, and tries again.

You know exactly what he means. Neytiri never doesn't answer. Ever since you had known them. The thought claws at you with every step.

The vines grow thicker as you move inland, hanging low and heavy. Sunlight becomes sparse and bright where it breaks through the canopy. The ground is still warm beneath your feet, but the effects of the wreckage become sparse the further you walk.

You stop when you see a flash of blue through green. It's wrong immediately. Too still. Too quiet. The forest seems to hold its breath around it, leaves hanging heavy, vines unmoving, as if even Eywa hesitates, holding her there for you.

Jake takes two more steps before he realizes you're no longer beside him. Confusion flickers across his face as he turns — then his eyes follow yours.

Neither of you move. Jake's breath hitches. You see his fingers twitch at his side, the way he urges his legs to take a step but they refuse, like his mind and his body won't accept what he sees. But the markings are unmistakable.

"No..." He breathes. Not loud, not yet. Just a sound torn from somewhere deep in his chest.

She's caught, folded in the hanging vines like the forest tried — and failed — to hold her up. Her bow lies several feet away, fingers slack and empty. An arrow pierces her chest at a brutal angle, feathers dark with blood.

The next moment he's running. "Neytiri—" Her name breaks as it leaves him, splintered and desperate. "Baby..." He stumbles the last few steps, dropping to his knees so hard that you wince.

His hands hover over her first, shaking, like he's afraid that touching her will make it real. "Hey— hey." He whispers, voice trembling. "I'm here, baby. Baby, look at me..."

Nothing.

His hands finally find her, slick with blood already cooling against his palms. He turns her gently, desperately, like there's some angle — some miracle — where this ends differently. "Oh god..." He chokes. "Oh, baby, no— no..." He presses his forehead to hers, breath hitching.

His breath comes apart, he makes a sound you've never heard from him before — raw, animal, ripped straight out of his chest. His shoulders shake as he pulls her closer, clutching her like he can force life back into her if he holds on hard enough.

"Jake..." You force yourself to whisper through tears. Reaching a trembling hand to his shoulder.

Neytiri's ikran cries overhead, a low, broken wail that echoes through the trees. It sounds like mourning made audible.

Jake presses his hand over Neytiri's wound, useless frantic. "Stay with me." He begs. "Please. You can't— Not you. Not you too... I can't—" His words dissolve into sobs. Tears falling onto her cold skin, mixing with the blood.

You stand frozen, heart splitting, watching the strongest man you know unravel in the dirt by each and every thread holding him together.

The forest answers back soon enough — high pitched yips cut through the leaves, the whistling of arrows and cracking of branches.

Mangkwan.

"Jake." You whisper at first, then cry, stumbling toward him.

He shakes his head, whispering beneath his breath as he brushes braids away from her lifeless face. "I can't leave her..."

You grab his shoulders, his arms — solid, shaking. "Jake, we have to go— Please... They're coming."

He doesn't hear you. He's gone somewhere you can't reach, eyes glassy, body folded over hers like a shield. He looks hollowed out, like something vital has been ripped from him and left him breathing by mistake.

You pull harder, tears blinding you. "I can't leave you here. Jake— Please... We'll come back. I promise."

The yips grow closer. Leaves rustle. You're sure an arrow lands in the dirt behind you.

Finally — finally — his body reacts. He lets you drag him up. He looks back once, like he's mentally telling her goodbye, then you're running.

Smoke burns your lungs. Ash sticks to your skin. Jake moves beside you like a ghost, silent and shattered.

Behind you, the forest swallows Neytiri back into vine and shadow.

---

The marui is quiet in a way that feels earned. Not peaceful — never that — but hushed, like the village itself is holding its breath. The reef murmurs beyond the woven walls, waves brushing gently against the mangrove stilts, a steady rhythm that almost feels like a heartbeat. The fire has burned low, its glow reflecting softly.

The burial is days behind you now. Long enough for the chants and prayers to fade. Long enough for the water to stop carrying her name every time the tide shifts — but still not long enough for the ache to dull any.

The children are finally asleep.

Tuk is curled tight again Kiri's side, small fingers tangled in her beads and threads like she might drift away if she lets go. She woke earlier from a nightmare, sobbing and disoriented, calling out for her sa'nok before her voice broke entirely and the truth came crashing in like a wave, taking her peace with it. She sleeps now — but you don't know for how long.

Kiri lies awake longer than she admits to, turned toward the walls of the marui, eyes closed but brow faintly furrowed, as though even in rest she's waiting for something to come and shift her life again...

Lo'ak is in his hammock nearby, one arm thrown over his eyes. His jaw is clenched hard enough to make your chest ache. He hasn't cried since the burial. His grief lives somewhere deeper, tight and restless, and he pushes it away. Out of anger. Out of shame. Out of fear.

Spider sleeps a little apart from them. He's curled in on himself, shoulders hunched even in rest. Neytiri wasn't his mother — none of you pretend she was — but her loss, so soon after Neteyam's, has shaken something loose in him. It's unsettling.

Jake sits at the edge of the marui, close enough to watch them all. He's been there every night since the burial, and his eyes and sunken face have started to show it. At first, you told yourself it was habit. A father keeping watch after danger. A warrior waiting for the next call to fight. Then you realised he couldn't sleep.

Because neither could you.

It started without either of you meaning to — sitting together when the others drifted off, sharing the long, quiet hours before dawn. Passing a cup of water, sometimes something more, something that stings, back and forth. Existing side by side because being alone hurt worse.

You move now from your own hammock, careful not to disturb the children, and sit beside him. He doesn't tense anymore when you do. That too is new.

Moonlight spills through the open slats of the marui, painting his face in silver and shadow. The lines there run deeper than they once did. He looks worn thin, like the sea has pulled too much from him and hasn't given anything back. His son — and now his mate too.

You don't reach for him right away. You've learned patience. You are Metkayina. You understand people like you understand the tides.

"She is asleep." You murmur softly, nodding toward Tuk. "For almost an hour this time."

His eyes close briefly, and his jaw tenses. The smallest flicker of relief crosses his face, but you don't miss the shine in his eyes. "Good."

The reef sighs beyond the marui, a soft roll of the tide that fills the background behind your words.

"You should try too." You add, even though you know he won't. "Just a little."

"If I sleep... I see her." He says quietly.

Your throat tightens. "I know." You reply, because you do. Because she's still there when you blink too — blue against green, still and wrong.

Silence stretches between you, thick but familiar now as you watch the waves together.

When you reach for his hand, you do it slowly, giving him every chance to pull away.

He doesn't. Instead, his fingers curl around yours like he's been waiting for the permission. Not tight, not desperate — just there. Familiar now.

It shouldn't mean anything.

But right now? It means everything.

That's the part that scares you.

They need you, you almost say. But you don't. Not yet. You know he can't be completely yet. "They watch you." You whisper instead. Your gaze flicks briefly to the small, sleeping shapes behind you. "Even when they pretend they are not, they are looking for something steady in their life."

He exhales, long and tired. "I don't feel steady."

You lean a fraction closer, careful to touch nowhere but your joined hands. "You don't have to be. Just... be here. With us."

His grip tightens. "You've been doing too much." He says quietly, changing the subject. "You don't have to stay awake every night."

"But you do."

He turns his head then, just enough to look at you. The space between you feels small, fragile. Loaded. Like standing ankle-deep in water you know will pull you under if you're not careful.

"You're hurting too." He says.

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak.

For a moment — just a moment — it feels like he might lean into you. Like he might let you be something more, let the weight finally drop and let you in.

He doesn't.

You're grateful. You're disappointed. You're ashamed of both.

So you stay exactly where you are — hands joined, shoulders almost touching, grief and salt, unspoken words and moonlight settling between you.

“A baby…” Jake muttered over your shoulder. 

“A baby,” you agreed, blinking in dumbfounded joy and surprise.

“What a blessing,” Mo’at noted, although you didn’t miss the underlying sorrow. If her daughter was still here, if she was still alive, then Neytiri would have been the one carrying Jake’s child.

You let go of your mate and reached out to place a hand on her arm, nodding to convey your thanks.

“How far along is she?” Jake asked his former mother in law. 

She smiled briefly at your gesture, “I would say 6 weeks, but these things are not exact, it is hard to tell. I leave you to discuss this,” she answered as she got up to give you and Jake some privacy.

Jake gripped your hands in his. “Another kid…” he muttered in wonder. 

“Eywa is testing us, four children…” you murmured.

Jake sat up straighter, “You don't want another?” he asked, his brows low on his forehead.

“I do! I do, it's just… well we will really be outnumbered now,” you laughed.

He closed his eyes briefly at the thought, “I just hope it’s another girl,” he smiled, and you huffed a sardonic laugh. 

“Can you imagine 3 boys?” you groaned, resting your forehead on his wrist as he laughed harder.

“I don’t want to,” he shook his head. 

-

You and Jake had gone back and forth about when to tell the kids, but after another month, you both agreed you couldn't wait any longer.

“Sully family meeting!” Jake called, gathering your small children around him in a circle. Jake reached out to pick up Lo’ak who was attempting to run past him to the basket of toys in the corner.

From where you were sitting next to Jake, you were directly across from Kiri and Neteyam. “Sa’nu and Sempu have something to tell you,” you started.

“Is it good or bad?” Kiri blurted in worry, already interrupting your train of thought. 

“It’s good, babygirl,” Jake told her. Lo’ak sat in his lap, squirming until Jake handed him the orange Toruk toy. The boy was like a wild nantang, ever hyper and ready to play.

“Are we in trouble?” Neteyam asked, shrinking back.

“No! Why would that be a good thing!” Kiri exclaimed, rolling her eyes at her older brother.

“You’re not in trouble, Mommy is going to have a baby,” you said, waiting as all of their faces filled with shock and then slowly morphed into varying emotions. 

Kiri looked purely skeptical, probably hoping desperately that she wouldn't get another brother. 

Neteyam looked happy about the news in his own quiet way. He smiled to himself, watching his family in excitement. 

Lo’ak on the other hand, was overjoyed. “WHAT?!” he exclaimed, jumping up from Jake’s arms and running over to you. “A baby is in here?” he asked, patting your stomach.

“Yes, there is,” you nodded as his jaw fell open in shock.

“A boy?” he asked hopefully, his eyebrows raised in the same way Jake’s often did.

“We do not know yet,” you answered.

“When do we find out?” Neteyam asked, finally speaking.

“Max and Norm can do tests to see what it will be in a few months,” Jake offered. 

“We did not know what you would be until you were born, your mother wanted you to be a surprise,” you explained, smiling at the fond memories of her insistence that she did not need any help from humans. 

You and Jake had decided right off the bat that you would never hide Neytiri from her son. He deserved to know his entire story, and you honored her by keeping her alive in him. Her memory was everywhere in your marui. You wore her jewelry nearly everyday, had her bow hanging on the wall waiting for Neteyam when he was older, and her stories had become a favorite during bedtime.

“Why did she not want to know?” Kiri asked Jake.

Jake pursed his lips, “Well, she wanted to do things the Na’vi way. Only humans like to know what the baby will be before its born. She said that she would be happy if you were a boy or a girl,” Jake said, noticing his son looking down at his knees, nodding in thought.

“She loved you very much, so much, she already had a feeling you would be a boy. She told me many times,” you nodded.

“How did she know?” he asked, looking up curiously.

You smiled a sad smile and brushed a braid away from his cheek, “Because a mother always knows, Parultsyìp.”

-

The next week, you rolled over in you and Jake’s hammock, and the swaying of it caused your eyes to fly open at the nausea that tore through you.

You got up and stumbled to the door, fighting with the cover before it finally came undone just in time for you to sink to your knees in the wet dew and lose your stomach all over the grass. 

Heavy footsteps pattered behind you, “Deep breaths, baby. Deep breaths,” Jake said, falling to his knee at your side as he pulled your hair out of your face and rubbed your back. He must have felt you getting up to have met you out here so quickly.

“What do you need?” he asked. One hand moved to rub at your shoulder as you sat up and leaned against his chest. His heartbeat pounded against your head, his arm draping over your middle.

“Nothing, I am fine. Just give me a minute,” you muttered, your face towards the sky but your eyes were closed.

Small footsteps hit the woven kelku floor behind you. “Is mommy okay?” Neteyam’s voice asked. You peeked an eye open to see him rubbing his eyes groggily as he stumbled outside. 

“Yeah, she's gonna be okay. The baby just needs some water. Can you get her some?” Jake asked sweetly in his husky morning voice.

“Yeah,” Neteyam nodded, suppressing a yawn and running back into your home only to return a moment later with a gourd of water.

“Thank you, baby boy,” you smiled, taking the gourd he offered you and squeezing his hand as you drank from it.

He opened his mouth to speak but hesitated. Finally he said, “I had a nightmare,” he confessed, nearly too quiet to be heard. You paused, putting down the water and your nausea was forgotten.

You held out your hands and pulled him into your lap. At 8 years old, he was almost too big to fit. “Do you want to tell us about it?” you asked, leaning your cheek on his forehead.

He nodded and Jake sat down at your side, his arms propping him up with his legs splayed out behind you. “What happened?” 

“There was a giant spider monkey chasing me,” he muttered and your forehead wrinkled in confusion. 

“What is that?” You asked. Jake’s stomach brushed against your arm as you heard his chuckles, you and Neteyam looked to see his father shake his head at the sky and say, “Spider monkeys are small, boy.” 

“Well this one was big!” Neteyam insisted, holding his arms wide to demonstrate. 

“I do not understand. What is a spider monkey?” You asked and both of your boys laughed when you butchered the name. 

“It’s an animal from earth, like a syaksyuk, but a lot smaller,” Jake explained.

“Norm and Max showed us different creatures they have on earth. We watched a video and the monkey ran around and screamed very loud,” Neteyam muttered, looking off in the distance as if he was traumatized. 

“Oh my poor boy,” you tutted, holding Neteyam’s head to your neck. You shared a smile with Jake over your son's head. Jake fought hard to suppress his laugh, but ultimately ended up covering it with a cough. 

“Well if it is like a syaksyuk, that does not sound so bad,” you said. “Maybe this monkey creature is actually very friendly.”

“No mama, it was very scary. He was chasing me through the forest and he caught me right when I woke up!” Neteyam said, as he looked at you with wide eyes. You smoothed down his hair, but Jake did not hold the same sympathies.

“Sempu, why are you laughing?” Neteyam complained as Jakes body was racked with laughter.

“I’m sorry, ‘teyam. It’s just, Spider Monkeys are about this tall.” He said, holding out a hand at what would only be hitting the height of your mid calves. 

Neteyam rolled his eyes and pursed his lips. “No dad! This one was huge!!” He exclaimed again and Jake nodded, resigning to just agree with your son and his silly nightmares.

“Okay, okay. You’re right, that’s scary.”

-

“Baby, put him down,” Jake exclaimed, rushing over to you to pluck Lo’ak out of your arms. 

You had been carrying the 6 year old while cleaning baskets in the stream, your other two children laid out behind you watching the clouds go by on the bank. Jake had just come to join you after a long day of fulfilling his duty as Olo’eyktan.

“Hey!” Lo’ak squealed as Jake held him away from you as your arms reached out for your youngest.

“I am fine, Ma’ Jake. You treat me as if I am the baby,” you huffed. Jake swerved out of your reach, spinning in a circle so that Lo’ak giggled in glee.

“Of course I am when you’re carrying my child,” he replied even as Lo’ak demands another spin, “Put down the baskets, I'll get it,” he ordered as he swept Lo’ak around.

You laid a hand on your barely round stomach at the reminder. You were only 3 months pregnant, but despite the ability to still be able to do most things, Jake was acting just like he had for your first pregnancy. You could barely lift a finger without him swooping in to stop you.

“Sempu!” Kiri yelled, running up to Jake. “Me next! Spin me!” 

“Alright babygirl,” he laughed, picking her up with his other arm and spinning the both of them around and around. 

You shook your head as Lo’ak screamed, upset that Kiri had taken some of Jake’s attention. 

“Momma?” Neteyam asked wading in the water to come up to you. 

“Yes baby?” You asked, ignoring Jake's early demand and sloshing water into the baskets before using a cloth to scrub at them. 

“What are you gonna name the baby?” He asked, grabbing another cloth and basket to follow your motions. 

“Hmm, I don’t know. Have any ideas?” You asked, looking over to him as he had his eyes cast down at the water.

“I like Tuk, like the beginning of Tukru. I think they will be a very good warrior,” he suggested. 

You smiled at the sound of it, it already felt right. “That is beautiful, Neteyam. I think that is a good name.” 

Neteyam smiled back at you for your compliment. “Baby, put it down! Neteyam, help me out. Get that basket,” Jake demanded.

Neteyam leveled his eyes at you, but looked bashful as he held out a hand to do as his father asked. You barked out a laugh his expression but handed the basket over to your son.

“You are just like your father,” you complained, pushing his chin to the side playfully as Neteyam grinned at the water. He clutched both baskets and cloth's in his arms as Jake sloshed over to you.  

“Good job, 'Teyam. What are you guys talking about?” Jake asked, holding both of your youngest children perched on his arms. 

“I said I like the name Tuk for a baby,” Neteyam shrugged. Lo’ak squirmed and Jake set him down. Kiri on the other hand was content to hang in her fathers hold, giggling as he swayed side to side to make her squeal. 

“I like it,” Jake nodded, swinging Kiri up to sit on his shoulders, her gangly legs hanging down to rest on his chest. 

“Baby Tuk,” Lo’ak exclaimed, splashing in the water, “I like it too!”

You smiled at your youngest’s enthusiasm. “Well as long as Lo’ak approves, then I suppose we can use the name,” you teased. 

“Right!” Lo’ak said matter of factly, but shrieked when Neteyam dropped the baskets and ran over to pull his tail. The boys ran around your legs, Kiri laughing maniacally from her safe perch.

Your eyes slid to Jake so see him already looking at you with a content and joyful smile. 

-

“Gah,” you groaned, the ache growing along your lower back. 

You had been trying for the past few hours to redo your hair since the growth had pushed the braids away from your scalp, making your baby hairs stick up and annoying you to no end. You knew your tired body would struggle to withstand the hours of contorted arms it took to braid your hair, but it bothered you too much to let it go undone. 

You had really only managed to finish braiding about half of your head when Jake ducked into the kelku, surprisingly alone. 

“Where are the children?” you asked, concerned. Mo’at had offered to take them off of your hands for the day while Jake led a hunt with some of the other warriors and you rode with them.

“Mo’at had them all asleep when I got there, said they could stay the night if we wanted,” Jake said, unlatching his cumberbund and his knife sheath and hanging them on the wood carved hooks on the wall.

“That was kind of her,” you murmured, hands still twisting strands of hair into a braid. Your back and legs dully ached as you sat uncomfortably.

“She must have put them to work. They were snoring like an Angstik, you should have heard them,” he chuckled, sitting down beside you and you noticed he was holding a length of string and a berry sized orange pebble in the palm of his hand. 

“What’s that?” you asked, tying off the braid you finished and putting your arms down to rest.

“A pebble I found at the river the day Neteyam named her,” he said, holding the rock up so you could see. “I thought I would make it into a bead or totem for Baby Tuktirey’s songchord.”

“It is perfect, Ma’Jake,” you smiled, and he nodded, happy that you approved. He took the string and looped it several times around the rock before creating a tight knot. You got back to work too, your tired arms and aching back screaming in protest.

“You look uncomfortable,” Jake said, noticing you wince. He lowered the craft in his hands and turned the full force of his attention on you.

“My back is killing me, the baby does not want me to have nice hair,” you complained, pouting as you already gave up on the braid you had barely started.

“Let me do it,” he suggested, laying down the pebble and rising to his knees to scoot closer to you.

“No Ma’jake, you braid like a child,” you groaned.

“Hey!” Jake exclaimed, gently flicking you on the shoulder. “You were the one to teach me.”

“And I must be a bad teacher,” you admitted.

“You are an excellent teacher, let me prove it to you,” he offered, taking up a section of your hair and combing through it with the small bone comb you had sitting by your side.

“Fine,” you relented, “But you’re on laundry duty if it is bad,”

“I’m already on laundry duty,” he lilted and you rolled your eyes. He had taken nearly every chore possible out of your hands as soon as Mo’at confirmed the pregnancy. You were lucky that his Olo’eyktan duties took up so much of his day because he would have probably not let you out of bed if he was not so busy.

As his fingers tightly wound each section into braids, your eyes drifted closed at the sensation. As a mother, you were always so busy taking care of everyone else, but Jake never let you go long without doing something for you. Even if it was just distracting the kids for an hour so you could breathe, he always made sure you had space to be your own person too. You hoped you did the same for him, you always tried your best.

“Are you nervous this time?” he asked quietly, not wanting to disrupt the silence too much. It was precious to you both.

You knew what he was speaking of. You had been so scared of birthing Lo’ak after the trauma of Neteyam’s arrival. Neytiri had been so strong and surefooted, if she couldn't survive it, what hope was there for you? You had thrown up repeatedly in the days leading up to going into labor and it had nothing to do with the physical toil of pregnancy. 

Neytiri’s eyes and last breaths were still stuck in your mind years later. You were terrified of something going wrong.

You had refused to give birth in the metal can that was Norm’s lab, but you had requested that Max and the other scientists with medical training be there in case something happened. It was a rocky seven hours of labor, the pain excruciating and seemingly neverending. 

Jake had held your hand through all of it, never leaving your side once. You knew he was deeply scared from what had happened with his first mate, he had told you as much, but even the blind could see it. He had fretted over every move you made for months leading up to the birth. He had refused to leave your side and forced you to go have checkups with Max every few days in the weeks prior.

“Yes,” you admitted and it felt like a bruise being poked. 

“Me too,” he agreed, “I know that what happened to her wasn't in my control, and if Eywa decided to take her, it was her time. But even all these years later I still feel so… so heavy about it. Like if I had just been there… maybe…” he trailed off and your heart sank.

“No Ma’Jake,” you denied, “I was there, and I can tell you for certain there was nothing anyone could have done. What happened is in the past. We cannot change it however much we wish to, so we can not dwell on what we did or did not do.” You affirmed, feeling the gentle tug on your scalp as he tied off a braid.

“You did not know she was so close to giving birth, or you would have never left. We all know that, you are not to blame,” you continued, hoping your words were a comfort.

“I know, I’m just terrified that something will go wrong again. I can’t lose you, I can’t go through losing my mate again,” he muttered and even without seeing his face, you knew he had started crying.

You turned toward him, reaching your arms around his neck and pulling him to you. His grip fell away from the braid he was working on and found your body instead, wrapping his arms around your torso as he buried his face in your neck.

“I will be okay. I am not going anywhere, Yawnetu,” you whispered to him.

“This baby is a blessing,” he murmured, as if reminding himself.

“This family is our fortress, Jake. We are only making it stronger,” you added as you pulled away to wipe the tears from his eyes with your thumbs. He nodded, eyes closed as you framed his face in your hands.

“I see you, Jake,” you said, tears threatening to fall on your own face, “You are not alone.”

His golden eyes opened to you, “I see you, baby. I love you.”

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Water lapped at your ankles and blood dripped down your sides as you laid on the cold rock. Your family clustered around your body, the sound of war and Tsurak shrieks still surrounded you.

“Dad? What do we do?” Lo’ak panicked, eyes locked on the bullet hole that tore through your chest. 

“I don't know, I don’t- god, baby. Come on!” he muttered, lowering his forehead onto yours.

“Wake up,” he ordered, “come on, I need you, baby, come back to me. I can't do it without you.”

“Dad, she is gone,” Neteyam said, his voice steady even as tears dripped down his face. He was your most balanced child, but often held in his emotions so that others didn't suffer. It would be many years before he processed your death.

Jake sat back at his son's words, the realization hitting him that he was their only parent now. He had to stay sane, at least until your kids were safe. 

He stared up at the orange sky, your favorite time of day. Kiri cried softly beside him, Tuk tucked in her arms. Lo’ak and Tsireya stood to the side, each crying for their own reasons. Tsireya cried for Lo’ak and the pain he was in, her arms held tightly to him. Lo’ak cried at losing his mom, his Sa’nu. You had been the one to dry his tears and to tell him everything would be alright

Neteyam sat on the other side of your head, shutting your eyes with gentle hands. He already blamed himself, even though the blame could never be turned that way. It was no one's fault but your own. You had let your emotions get in the way which left you careless.

You had helped Neteyam and Lo’ak when you spotted your two trouble-making sons heading into the enemy's ship, getting them both out, plus the human boy Spider. It wasn't until the Colonel came over Jake’s comms to tell him he had your two daughters that things went south.

The thought of that monster holding your babies hostage on a sinking ship had enraged you, sending you into a reckless, blind fury. You had killed many, but two stray bullets through your chest and another through your leg had rendered you incapacitated and bleeding out. 

It was Lo’ak who had found you there before the ship went down. He had dragged your dying body into the water and with the help of Tsireya, had found a safe place to stay while they waited for Jake to get off the ship.You were barely holding on, each breath tearing through you in painful spurts, not having the strength to even speak. 

Kiri and Tuk had found you next, having gotten off of the ship before it sank, but Jake was still nowhere to be seen. You had started to fear you would take your last breath before he found you, but he emerged from the water, Neteyam behind him.

It had not taken you long after that to die. Heaving in one last breath and staring up at the lightening sky as your mate cradled you. You were thankful you had gotten to see his face one last time.

Now, as the sun emerged from the eclipse, Jake could see the true extent of your injuries. You had never stood a chance. You were as good as dead the moment the bullets hit you.

“Neteyam,” Jake said numbly, standing up with unnatural renewed strength. “I need you to take your siblings back. You don’t let them out of your sight, you hear me?” 

Neteyam jerked into action, “No, you do not chase him,” he ordered, showing more backbone to his father than he ever had before. He was never one to disrespect his parents, but he knew that in this moment, he needed to stop whatever rampage his father was capable of.

His mother was gone, the cornerstone of the foundation that held this family together. Her role was not expendable, not something that was replaced. Jake Sully would fall to chaos without you, and his son knew that.

Jake turned fully to face his oldest, “I just need you to listen to me boy, take them back to the village.”

“Dad, don't go,” Kiri begged, looking up to her dad who had lost too much today to go do anything reckless. 

“Do not leave us,” Tuk cried, clutching her fathers leg.

Jake placed a hand on Tuk’s head on instinct, and kneeled before her. “I’m not leaving you. I’ll find you real soon, Peanut,” he swore.

Tuk sniffled, falling into her fathers chest as she cried. “Promise?” her voice was muffled.

“I promise,” he agreed and she lifted her head, going back to Kiri as Neteyam finally stood, casting one last glance at his mother on the rock.

Neteyam stepped forward, close enough that Tuk would not hear him. “We need you, Dad. You're all we have now,” Neteyam reminded him, turning his back and walking up to your body. He began to crouch down to pick you up, but Jake stopped him with a hand to his chest.

“Leave her,” he ordered, “Just go home son,” 

Neteyam paused, glancing up at his father with tear filled eyes, “I can not.” Kiri and Tsireya called for Ilu’s and the kids piled on, making the long journey back to Awa'atlu.

Jake waited until they were out of sight before he scooped up your body, holding it in his arms and he finally let the tears fall. 

-

“She should be buried in the forest,” Neteyam ground out the next day, not making eye contact with his father. They stood overlooking the water before your burial ceremony. You would rest within the reef among the ancestors of the Metkayina. An honor the Sully’s were awarded with condolences from the Tsahik and Olo’eyktan.

“You know we can’t go back. We put everyone at risk there,” Jake corrected him, a bold white stripe painted down his body, the symbolism of it being that his soul was split in two. Neteyam and the rest of the children wore a similar one. 

“We put everyone at risk no matter where we go. She deserves to rest in her home,” Neteyam argued.

“Don’t you think I don't know that boy?” Jake snapped, glaring at his son for the position he was putting him in. He was barely keeping it together as it was. “I would give anything,” his voice cracked but he pushed on. “I would give nearly anything to give her that, but I won’t risk you kids. She will be laid to rest here, and that's final.”

Neteyam pursed his lips but nodded, “Yes sir.”

Jake gave one last look to his son to truly make sure he understood before he saw that the Metkaina were waiting for them down at the shore.

They left the Mauri, and met Ronal and Tonowari at the beach. Kiri, Tuk, Spider, and Lo’ak stood beside them. Eclipse was beginning at any moment.

Many Na’vi sons and daughters would be buried this day, making Jake’s guilt sit even deeper in his chest. They had died because of his call. Because he had let them ride out to save his children.

Tonowari gestured the customary Na’vi greeting, “I see you. We are with you, Jakesuli,” he said.

Jake nodded, returning the gesture and sliding his gaze to the Tsahik. She looked at him with wary sorrow, not sure where he stood.

“We are ready,” was all he said and the family stepped into the water where the awaiting Ilu was attached to the vessel that carried you. 

The Metkayina softly sang a song of mourning and of life while the Sully’s descended into the water. And when Jake and Neteyam pulled you out of the vessel and into the briny surface, Jake knew this would be the last time he saw your face. 

He supported your body, but pressed a kiss to your cheek, leaning his forehead against yours for the final time. This had once been a symbol of two becoming one, of him resting on your steadfastness. Now it was goodbye. 

Neteyam backed away, watching his father do the hardest thing he would ever have to do. Jake lifted his head and looked at his children, all of them crying. The Metkayina’s song rose as he took a deep breath and his body fell over yours, pushing you down into the deep.

His legs kicked your both down, down, down, towards the golden reef below. As he reached the bottom and let go of you, he fought the urge to yank you back up and hold you close. There had been so many times in your life where he had done that, he did not want to overshadow those memories now. 

He stayed and watched as you were consumed by the ocean floor, your body getting swallowed up until you were out of sight. His lungs burned, but he stayed as long as he was able, watching for any last hint of you.

He was eventually forced to resurface, taking a gulping breath of air from a world that did not have you in it.

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You were born quiet.

Not screaming like the others, not thrashing or crying, but still and small in Neytiri’s arms. Your skin was warm, your heart strong — but your breath came shallow, uneven, like the world itself was too heavy for your lungs.

Mo’at had frowned that day. Neytiri had refused to look away.

“She breathes,” Neytiri had said, voice fierce with denial. “She lives.”

Jake had held your tiny hand, fear coiling tight in his chest.

And you did live.

But breathing was never easy.

Growing up, you learned early that your body worked differently.

While Neteyam raced through the forest and Lo’ak leapt from cliffs without fear, you learned how to pace yourself. How to stop before your chest tightened. How to sit quietly when your lungs burned. How to hide the tremor in your hands when breathing became work instead of instinct.

Jake watched everything.

Too closely.

“Slow down,” he’d say, always gentler with you than with the others.

“I’m fine,” you’d answer, even when you weren’t.

Neytiri learned the sound of your breathing better than the rhythm of the forest. She could hear the change before you spoke, could see it in the way your shoulders lifted too high, too fast.

At night, she’d rest a hand on your back while you slept.

Just to feel you breathe.

The attacks came without warning.

Sometimes during training. Sometimes after laughter. Sometimes in the quiet moments that should have been safe.

Your chest would tighten first — a heavy pressure, like invisible hands squeezing your ribs. Then the air would refuse to come, your breaths turning short and sharp, panic blooming fast behind your eyes.

You hated the way everyone froze when it happened.

You hated the fear in your siblings’ faces.

“I’m okay,” you’d gasp, even as your vision blurred.

But this time was different.

It happens near the reef.

You’d gone swimming with your siblings, careful as always, staying closer to the surface, moving slower. The water was calm, warm, gentle.

Safe.

Until it wasn’t.

The tightness hits suddenly, violently. Your chest seizes, breath catching halfway in. You surface too fast, coughing, lungs screaming as if they’ve forgotten how to work.

“Hey — hey, slow down,” Neteyam calls.

You try.

You can’t.

Your breaths come broken, shallow, each one worse than the last. Panic floods your body, making everything tighter, harder.

“Dad!” Lo’ak shouts.

Jake is there instantly, pulling you from the water, his hands firm but shaking. You cling to him, gasping, your fingers digging into his shoulders.

“I can’t—” you choke. “I can’t breathe.”

Your lips are turning blue.

Jake sees it.

Fear — raw, animal — tears through him.

“Neytiri!” he yells.

She drops to her knees beside you, her hands framing your face, her eyes wide with terror she cannot hide.

“Look at me,” she commands, voice trembling. “Look at me, ma ’ite.”

You try. Your vision swims.

Your chest heaves, your body trembling violently, each breath a battle you are losing.

Jake presses his forehead to yours. “Stay with us. Please. Stay.”

When the attack finally breaks, it leaves you empty.

Your breathing slows, but it’s weak now — fragile. Your body feels heavy, like it doesn’t belong to you anymore. Every movement sends waves of exhaustion through you.

Your lips regain some color, but not all.

You don’t have the strength to sit up.

Neytiri gathers you against her chest, rocking slightly, whispering prayers to Eywa over and over, her voice breaking.

Jake can’t stop staring at you.

You’ve never looked so small.

The sickness lingers.

Days pass, and you don’t recover the way you usually do. Your lungs ache constantly. Walking leaves you dizzy. Eating takes effort. Even laughing makes your chest burn.

You hate it.

You hate the way everyone watches you now.

Neteyam brings you food without being asked.

Kiri sits beside you, quiet, worried.

Lo’ak tries to joke, but his eyes never leave your face.

Tuk curls up against you, clinging like she’s afraid you’ll disappear.

Jake barely leaves your side.

At night, when the others sleep, he sits awake, listening to your breathing.

Every breath feels borrowed.

“I failed you,” he whispers one night, when he thinks you’re asleep.

You aren’t.

“You didn’t,” you rasp softly.

He startles, looking down at you. His eyes are red. Tired. Haunted.

“I brought you into a world that hurts you just by existing,” he says. “I should’ve—”

“Don’t,” you interrupt weakly. “I like living.”

That breaks him.

He presses his forehead to your hand, shoulders shaking silently.

Neytiri watches from the shadows, her heart aching with love and fear she has no words for.

You don’t get better quickly.

You grow thinner. Weaker. Your body struggles to recover from something it never fully escapes. Mo’at says your lungs will always be fragile — a mix of human weakness and Na’vi strength that never fully balanced.

“You must learn gentleness,” she tells you. “With yourself.”

That is harder than any training.

One evening, you sit with your family, wrapped in blankets, watching the ocean glow softly under Eywa’s light.

You’re tired. Always tired.

But you’re alive.

Neytiri sits beside you, her arm around your shoulders. Jake is on your other side, holding your hand like he’s afraid to let go.

“I’m still here,” you say quietly.

Jake squeezes your hand. “Yeah. You are.”

And this time, he allows himself to believe it.

The night was alive with joy, music and bonfires lighting the clearing in warm, flickering gold.

It was a celebration. Mates danced together, others played music, laughter weaving through the air. Some simply lingered by the fire, talking about everything and nothing at all. You ran in circles around the flames, chasing your sister with breathless laughter, your small feet barely keeping up.

She darted behind your father's legs, peeking out at you with mischief shining in her eyes. Clutched tightly in her hand was your mother's favourite flower—the one you had waited all day to give her. The clan had walked for hours toward the Circle of Songs, and you had spotted the fragile, precious bloom growing by the side of the path.

"Veyluna!" you shrieked at the top of your five-year-old lungs, finally drawing your father's attention. "Give it back! It's not yours!"

Your voice wavered, tears gathering at your lashes. Gone was the laughter and the smile.

Above you, your father—Ryn'tao—looked down at his two daughters, a soft smile tugging at his lips as he watched you play, firelight dancing across his face.

Suddenly, you were lifted off the ground and pressed against your father's warmth. He brushed a gentle kiss to your forehead before looking down at your sister, who no longer looked quite so proud. Her eyes flicked up to him, then back to you, uncertainty creeping into her expression.

The moment her gaze met yours, you stuck out your tongue in triumph, barely containing a giggle as your father spoke.

"Give it back now, Veyluna," he said softly. There was no scolding in his voice, no sharp edge of anger, only calm certainty. He extended his free hand, the one not holding you securely on his hip. "Come on. It isn't yours, and you know that."

She glanced at you again, and once more you stuck out your tongue, revelling in your small victory. No matter what, your parents always seemed to take your side. You were still their youngest and sometimes, you knew exactly how to use that to your advantage.

Once the flower was safely in his hand, he set you back on the ground and crouched down so he was eye level with both of you. His gaze was gentle—so soft, filled with nothing but love. It had always been that way. You had never known his eyes to hold anything else. It was even more noticeable when he looked at your mother.

"You cannot turn against each other," he said quietly. "You are family."

He leaned forward and pressed a tender kiss to your sister's temple. Then his gaze moved between Veyluna and you, clearly waiting for something. He said nothing more, yet he didn't let either of you go.

Without warning, your sister stepped forward and pulled you into a hug, murmuring a soft apology against your ear, making it twitch.

"Go find your brother," your father said as he straightened, a quiet chuckle in his voice.

Taking your hand in hers, your sister tugged you into motion, and soon the two of you were running around the camp once more—laughing like nothing had ever happened. The anger over the stolen flower vanished, as did the frustrated tears.

As you passed your mother, Jeyla, you let go of your sister's hand and rushed toward her.

"Mama!" you shrieked, lifting your arms high.

Once again, you were swept up into the soft safety of your mother's embrace. You wrapped your arms around her neck, clinging tightly. Nothing compared to your mother's hugs—not the sweet fruits laid out by the fire, not playing with your siblings, not even splashing in the water.

"Look," you said, pulling back slightly to show her the precious flower you had kept safe all day.

"Oh wow, this is for me?" she asked, a smile blooming across her face, soft and warm.

Your mother had always been beautiful. The most beautiful woman you had ever known. Bathed in firelight, surrounded by her clan and laughter, she looked like the sky at sunset. Her eyes—shades of blue and gold—were kind, never sharp or cruel. Her hair fell in long, neat braids, just like the ones she patiently wove into your own for hours whenever you asked.

In your eyes, she was perfect.

You hummed and nodded eagerly, your smile stretching so wide it made your cheeks ache. You watched her closely, waiting for her reaction.

"It's beautiful, Paskalin," she murmured, pressing a loud kiss to your cheek. "But it would look even better… right here." She tucked the flower behind your ear.

"But Mama, it was for you…" you protested, trying to hand it back.

She only laughed, setting you gently on the ground, the flower still tucked behind your ear. Any lingering disappointment vanished when you heard your sister calling your name, her voice ringing out as she waited impatiently for you.

You turned and ran back to her, catching her outstretched hand as you passed.

How could you have known it would be the last time you ever felt your father's warmth, the last time you would see your mother's smile?

Groans were the first sounds you heard as consciousness returned. It took several long seconds to realize they were your own. Pain flared along your spine, sharp and unrelenting, radiating all the way down to your legs.

The air around you was warm and damp. Not the forest. Not the canopy you remembered falling through. This was enclosed—stone instead of bark, moisture clinging to the air. No roots or branches surrounded you anymore. Only cool rock pressed against your back as you lay there, unmoving.

You tried to force your eyes open, but the effort was too much. Your head throbbed violently. Had you struck it during the fall? You couldn't remember.

Your memories came in fragments: the attack, then the fall. Your body slamming into trees as they slowed you, limbs tangling in branches that tore your skin raw. And then, hands on your face.

Five-fingered hands.

Your eyes flew open at the thought, only to be met with harsh light that burned your vision. You groaned, squeezing them shut again, blinking rapidly as you tried to adjust. Those few seconds felt far too long.

When your sight finally cleared, you looked around in a rush. Sunlight filtered through an opening high above, pouring into what was unmistakably a cave. Warmth gathered along the stone walls, brushing your skin where you lay. You had been placed on what looked like an old hammock resting on the cave floor.

You were alone. At least, for now.

Weapons lined the walls. Food and supplies were neatly arranged nearby. It was obvious someone lived here. And when your eyes landed on the unmistakable shape of metal weapons, all doubt vanished.

He had been the one finding you.

A fresh wave of pain dragged your attention downward. The arrows were gone—at least, you thought they were. Your wounds had been cleaned and carefully bandaged. But when your fingers brushed the bindings, you felt it.

The solid, unyielding hardness beneath your skin. The arrows were still inside you.

Why he had left them there, you couldn't say. To keep you weak, perhaps. All your past training from the TAP—the Ambassador Program—forgotten as you were clouded by your anger. Deep, you knew it was to stop you from bleeding.

You didn't have time to dwell on his intentions. Judging by the sun now standing high above the cave opening, at least a full day had passed since the Mangkwan attack, maybe more. You had seen warriors sleep for nearly a week after grievous injuries. And you were carrying two.

Your stomach twisted painfully. The hunger gnawing at you confirmed it—more than a day, then.

Beside you sat a bowl of water. On a broad leaf lay sliced fruit. Without stopping to consider what he might have done to them, you grabbed the bowl and drank deeply, gulp after gulp, then bit into the fruit. Juice ran down your fingers.

You were starving. And the food was good. Ripe. Sweet.

You doubted he meant to kill you. If he had, he wouldn't have gone through the trouble of tending your wounds—even as partially as he did. And he clearly didn't see you as a threat. His weapons lay in plain sight, scattered and unguarded.

His mistake, you thought as you tried to rise.

The first movement sent fire tearing through your body. Pain exploded along your spine, and on your very first step your legs gave out, dumping you hard onto the cave floor. The impact drove the air from your lungs.

For a moment, you lay there on the cold, damp stone, gasping. Then, gritting your teeth, you forced yourself upright, trembling as you sat.

This was not the worst pain you had endured.

You would survive this, just as you had survived everything else. You told yourself it was part of the Great Mother's plan. Eywa would not have placed you in his path without purpose. She would not have made him careless for no reason.

All you had to do was reach the knife resting beside his cold fire.

If you had to crawl to it, you would.

After another attempt at standing ended with your knees scraping brutally against the stone floor, you finally gave up on walking. Blood seeped freely now—your knees torn raw, your thigh wound reopening as you dragged yourself forward. Every movement sent fresh agony through you, but inch by inch, you reached the knife.

Then you waited.

You laid back where you had been when you first woke, knife clenched tight in your hand.

You didn't know how much time passed before you heard him again. The sound pulled you from a shallow, unwanted sleep. You hadn't meant to drift off, but the effort of moving—of bleeding, of. suffering through the arrows still lodged inside you—had drained what little strength you had left.

You stayed perfectly still, forcing your breathing to remain slow and even, your back turned toward the cave entrance. The knife was hidden in your grip, muscles trembling with the effort to keep it ready.

Your faith in Eywa burned bright again, just as it had the day she had revealed the traitor's name to you. She had placed Toruk Makto in your path for a reason. She had made him let his guard down for a reason. She understood your anger. She felt it too.

Quiet sounds echoed through the cave, supplies being set down, footsteps crossing stone. You heard no one else. He was alone.

When he came closer, his steps faltered.

"What the fuck?" the alien muttered, in English. That twisted, ugly language.

The rumours said he had been a trained soldier. That he was nearly impossible to kill. But you only needed one moment—one instant of lowered guard. They had trained you too. Turned you into a weapon.

You can do this, you told yourself. You have to.

When he moved again, his steps were slower. Cautious. You didn't know that he had noticed the drops of blood leading away from where you had woken. Toward the fire. Toward the knife he remembered leaving behind.

He couldn't blame you. You had woken injured and disoriented. Of course you would try to defend yourself.

When his knees touched the ground behind you, you forced your eyes to stay closed, your ears still. Any movement would give you away. Any hesitation would end this before it began.

His five-fingered hand touched your shoulder, turning you, you moved.

Just like in training, you twisted fast, shoving him backward as you straddled his chest, pinning his arms beneath your legs. Groaning in pain, you pushed through it but it made you sloppy. Your injured leg buckled, failing to hold his arm down.

When you drove the knife for his throat, he managed to knock it aside but not in time. The blade carved a brutal line from his jaw to the top of his cheek, stopping just short of his eye.

He hissed out of shock.

You snarled back, lunging again, fury flooding your veins. All you could feel was anger. Hatred. Purpose.

Here he was, wearing the shape of your people. If not for his ten fingers and ten toes, you might never have known he wasn't Na'vi. He dressed like one. His hair was braided like one.

But his Na'vi was terrible.

"It is okay," he said quickly, switching languages, his voice deep and controlled, trying to calm you. His hand was on your wrist, trying to stop you. "I not want to hurt you."

"Do not speak my language," you spat, slashing at him again, anywhere you could reach. This time it was the top of his shoulder. But this time, he didn't hiss.

His eyes widened slightly—not at your attack, but at your English. Na'vi didn't speak it. Not like that. Only the Omatikaya were known to, and you weren't Omatikaya. He would have remembered you. Especially with that scar.

His grip tightened painfully around your wrist, crushing hard enough to stop all movement, while his other arm strained beneath your weakening leg. Still, you fought.

With his hand still locked around your wrist, you yanked both yours and his toward your mouth and bit down hard, teeth sinking into his skin. Your other hand, the one attached to your injured arm, raked down his face, nails scraping as you tried to force him to let go.

Blood flooded your mouth.

When he finally released you, you spat it onto him and lunged again, driving the knife toward his throat, but this time he was ready.

Before you could react, the hand you had bitten slammed into the wound on your left shoulder. White-hot pain exploded through you. A scream tore from your throat as the world narrowed to agony, your grip faltering under the brutal force of it.

Your scream echoed off the cave walls, raw and unrestrained. The knife slipped from your fingers, clattering uselessly against his chest as your body betrayed you. Pain burned through you—your shoulder and thigh screaming, as if the arrows themselves were being twisted inside your flesh.

He took advantage of the moment.

With a sharp movement, he rolled, using his weight and your weakened grip to pin you beneath him. His knee pressed into the stone beside your hip—not crushing, not pressing down, but firm enough that you couldn't twist away. One hand trapped both of yours against your stomach, careful in a way that only fuelled your fury.

"Stop," he said, breath heavy now, not angry—just worried. "You're bleeding out."

Even through the pain, all you could feel was anger. And shame. Shame that you had missed. Shame that you had been so close to killing him and still failed. It didn't matter. You would try again, even if it killed you.

"Do not talk to me, demon!" you spat, thrashing weakly against his grip.

Your body was weakening, you could feel it. When your gaze dropped, you understood why. He hadn't been lying. Blood seeped freely from your wounds, warm and sticky against your skin.

It didn't matter.

His eyes flicked over the spreading red—concern mixing with confusion at your words, at the hatred so clearly directed at him. He was certain he had never seen you before. You hadn't fought against them. He would have remembered your face, remembered the scar on your cheek. He was a Marine. He had been trained to notice details.

Why did you hate him this much?

"I'm not going to hurt you," he said again, slower now, as if trying to make you hear him through the roaring in your head. "But if you keep fighting like this, you will die."

You spat in his face once more and let out a fractured, breathless laugh that scraped at your throat.

"Good," you chuckled, eyes locked onto his, unblinking. "It would not be the first Na'vi the great Toruk Makto has killed. Would not be the first Na'vi the pinkskins have murdered."

"I'm not going to kill you," he said, firm now, watching you the way one watches something dangerous and broken.

A smile crept across your face, slow, wrong, stretching far too wide.

"It's you or me, Jake Sully," you murmured, voice steady despite the blood soaking into the stone beneath you.

Your words were all it took for his grip to falter—just barely, but enough.

Moving on pure instinct, on the training beaten into your bones, you snatched the knife where it had fallen beside you and drove it straight into his thigh. A raw groan tore from his throat as his body jerked, his weight shifting but not fully leaving you.

You ripped the blade free at once, already lifting it for his heart. His hands closed around your wrist.

He twisted hard. There was a sickening crack as bone gave way.

A scream ripped out of you, sharp and animal, as the knife slipped from your fingers. It fell, grazing your stomach on the way down, drawing a thin, burning line of red before clattering uselessly against the stone.

His weight finally lifted.

You rolled weakly onto your side, reaching blindly for the knife, only for his foot to kick it out of reach.

He collapsed beside you, breathing hard, hands pressed to his bleeding thigh, fingers slick with red. You cradled your broken arm against your chest, trembling. He looked at you with naked anger now.

You smiled.

Blood crusted your lips, dried and dark. You knew you must look deranged—eyes glassy, teeth red, grin too wide. You didn't care.

This was how you died. Bleeding out beside the alien. He had no real medical supplies—if he had, he would have used them on you already.

Good.

Now all that remained was waiting. Waiting for Eywa to call you home.

You couldn't wait to feel your father's warmth again. To see your mother's smile. To hear your brother's laugh, to argue with your sister over nothing at all. This time, nothing would tear you away from them.

No words passed between you, only his ragged breathing, and yours growing slower, shallower.

Your only regret was that you would die before him. You had wanted to watch the light leave his eyes. Wanted to gloat.

But it didn't matter.

You knew you had hit an artery. The knife was out. The bleeding wouldn't stop—not until his body went cold and still. That thought made you smile again.

You felt nothing now. Not the broken arm. Not the arrows still buried in your flesh. No anger. No grief. Nothing. Life was slipping away, and for the first time in so long you felt it.

Happiness. True, so raw.

You closed your eyes and whispered a silent thanks to the Great Mother.

"Jake?" a male voice called out in English, distant and echoing. "You in here?"

Too late. You couldn't open your eyes. Couldn't fight whoever had arrived to help. And just like that, your smile finally faded, pulling into a faint frown as darkness swallowed you whole.

He would live.

Coming back to your senses, the first thing you felt was pain.

That alone told you everything. You were still alive.

Not with your family. Not home. The Great Mother had left you here, again. Toying with you, dragging you back when she should have let you go. The realization made something in your chest twist with exhaustion rather than fear. You were so tired of it.

A steady beeping reached your ears, distant at first, then impossible to ignore. Beneath you, there was a mattress. It had been years since you had laid on a mattress. Years since you had been covered, since something had been strapped over your face, forcing air into your lungs.

You knew what this meant. An RDA base.

Abandoned, most likely. The true RDA had been driven from Pandora months ago, only scientists and doctors were allowed to remain now—here to study the land, the animals, the people. No weapons. No soldiers. They were under strick rules, and it was organised by one of the Toruk Makto's closest friend.

At least, that was what they claimed.

Still, the place wasn't empty. The mask on your face pumped air steadily into your nose. Machines beeped at your side. Harsh neon light burned down on you from above. You reached up to tear the mask away and froze.

Restraints.

Cold bands circled your wrist, locking you to the bed. When you looked down, anger surged hot and fast in your gut. Whoever had patched you up had also thought it wise to tie you down.

Probably for the best. For them.

The arm Jake Sully had broken, was fixed and secured in a sling close to your chest so you couldn't really move it. Movement hurt, a lot—a flash of pain running down your entire arm at the sightliest twitch of it. It was useless.

The room pressed in around you, too white, too clean. Too familiar even when you knew you hadn't set foot in this room. They were all the same.

The memories clawed their way back—of rooms like these and tests and screams. But instead of fear, all it did was feed your rage. You thrashed against the bed, snarling as you discovered your ankles were restrained as well. The bed was large, built to fit a Na'vi body.

An old Avatar Program facility, then.

Three walls were made of mirrors, but you knew it was a see through one. Just like it was in the TAP facilities. One of them was cracked, allowing you a glimpse of the hallway beyond. Empty. Long. Silent.

You strained against the restraints again, growling when they didn't give.

"Stop moving," a male voice said calmly, in Na'vi. "You'll reopen your wounds."

Your ears flattened instantly.

That accent was wrong. Sky People. You whipped your head from side to side, searching for the speaker. There was no one in the room. Behind you, only a blank white wall and a sealed metal door. Then you saw it. A small white camera in the corner. A red dot blinked slowly.

Of course. They always liked to watch.

You hissed at it, thrashing harder against the bed.

In English, sharp and venomous, you spat, "Do not speak my language. It does not belong to you."

"He told me you'd say that," the voice replied with a tired sigh, this time in English.

He. Toruk Makto. Jake Sully.

He had lived.

"Take them off," you growled, staring straight into the camera.

"I won't," the voice answered immediately. "Not until you've calmed down and you're no longer a threat."

That made you laugh, low, cracked, and humourless. "Then you will never untie me."

When no reply came, you assumed he had gone to warn the others—whoever was left in the base—along with Jake Sully. With a frustrated sigh, you let your head fall back against the mattress, a low growl slipping from your throat as you stopped yourself from screaming. The mask wouldn't have allowed much sound anyway.

Then you heard footsteps. They were drawing closer. Not the heavy tread of a soldier. Not the uneven rhythm of someone limping—like you knew Jake Sully was after you attacked him. You tensed slightly.

Through the cracked mirror on your left, you saw movement. The source of the voice crouched down, slipping carefully through the broken glass. Five-fingered hands steadied him as he climbed inside.

An avatar.

His body was dressed in human clothes—a shirt over a white T-shirt, loose shorts. His hair was shorter than most Na'vi wore it, kept out of his face by a brightly coloured headband. But he was wearing some elaborated jewellery from your people. Everything about him screamed in-between. Not truly Na'vi. Not fully human either.

"Nothing good will come from your anger," he said calmly.

"And nothing good has ever come from your kind," you shot back without hesitation.

He paused, clearly not expecting that.

"How do you speak English?" he asked, pulling a stool from the corridor and sitting down, careful to keep his distance from the bed. Almost like he was afraid of you.

When it became clear you weren't going to answer, he stood and moved past the broken window again, disappearing on the opposite side of the corridor. A heavy metallic sound echoed shortly after. You frowned.

Was he leaving? He proved you wrong when he reappeared moments later, stepping back into the room. This time, his movements were slower, careful and deliberate, as he approached your bed. His eyes were gentle.

So had the eyes of some of the people in TAP. That hadn't made them trustworthy.

When his hands came too close to your face, you hissed sharply, snapping your head toward him. He flinched, but didn't retreat. The moment he removed the mask from your nose and mouth, you lunged.

Your teeth sank into his hand.

"Ow, fuck!" he shouted, jerking instinctively as he tried to pry your jaw open with his other hand.

That only made it worse.

Feeling his filthy fingers on you ignited something vicious inside your chest. You clamped down harder, locking your teeth and fangs into his skin. Warm blood flooded your mouth, metallic and thick. The taste coated your tongue, filled your senses.

And somewhere beneath his pain, beneath your rage—you felt satisfaction. You were hurting him. And for once, that felt right. His kind deserved all the pain this world could offer.

Suddenly, his fingers tightened around your jaw, gripping hard enough to send a sharp spike of pain through you. With a forceful twist, he pried your mouth open, wrenching a groan from your throat. He didn't hesitate, using the moment to retreat quickly from the bed, clutching his bleeding hand to his chest, eyes wide and fixed on you in raw terror.

You rolled your jaw slowly, working through the lingering ache, never breaking eye contact.

Whatever Jake Sully had told them about you, this one clearly hadn't believed it and he'd paid the price. All your life, you had been underestimated. You were done with it.

"You can't kill him," the man blurted, his voice still shaken.

Of course you knew who he was talking about. The sudden affirmation only let you know the man feared for his own life, thinking you were here to kill them all. You could if you wanted.

"If he bleeds," you replied coldly, dragging your tongue over your lips, tasting the blood there, "he can die."

"That's not what I meant." He swallowed, glancing down at the drops staining the floor. "The People… they still look up to him. They whisper his name. If he were to reappear, they would follow. He is Toruk Makto."

Your stare sharpened, lethal.

"The People will not mourn him, alien," you snarled. "They will rejoice that the coloniser is dead." Your eyes burned into him, daring him to come closer. "He is not worthy of the Great Toruk. He stole that bond, just like your kind steals everything."

Your chest rose with ragged breath. "You have rotten souls," you finished, voice low and venomous, "and you infected the People with it for your own benefit."

"You are not part of the clans that came to our help," he began.

The way he said our made something in you snap.

There was no our. He was part of the problem, no matter how softly he spoke, no matter how gentle his eyes were. This man had no understanding of what your people had endured at the mercy of his kind.

"You don't know what we did to stop them, if—" His voice blurred, echoing uselessly in your head.

"You did nothing for me," you cut in sharply, venom spilling free. "You did nothing for my people. For my clan. For my family." Your breath came faster now, chest rising and falling as you stared at him with wild, unrestrained eyes. "Your kind took and never gave back. And we, the Na'vi, were forgiving. Don't pretend the sky people would have shown the same mercy if invaders had done this to your own world."

Silence stretched.

His frown deepened, something uneasy settling behind his eyes. You could see it—the confusion, the calculation. He couldn't understand how you could be truly Na'vi and yet know so much about human history, human cruelty. Your English was fluent, your accent faint, almost imperceptible.

That, more than your rage, unsettled him. "How do you—"

"Does it matter?" you snapped back.

You'd said too much. You felt it immediately.

Anger had loosened your tongue, and now weakness crept in where fury had been holding everything together. Tears burned at the corners of your eyes, uninvited and humiliating. When his gaze softened even further, you couldn't bear it. You turned your head away, fixing your stare on the camera instead, on the knowledge that someone was watching.

You'd heard movement earlier, the rustle of body when you'd bitten down on his hand. You were never truly alone here.

You hoped it was him watching. Hoped Jake Sully could see that nearly dying hadn't burned the anger out of you, that it had only sharpened it. When you heard him sigh beside you, you glanced back for just a heartbeat before looking away again.

"I'm Norm," he said at last, offering his name like it meant something. Hoping you might give him yours in return.

"I do not care," you deadpanned, forcing silence to fall between the two of you.

It didn't last.

Norm spoke again, and irritation flared hot in your chest. Norm. How could a man be named Norm, and the humans at TAP had said your Na'vi name was too difficult to pronounce? Too ugly for their mouths?

"That scar on your cheek…" he said carefully. "It's human-made?"

"No," you answered at once, voice flat, eyes still fixed on the camera.

"I've never seen anything like this," Norm said, rolling his stool a little closer to get a better look.

"No one's left to see it on anymore," you replied. When he moved too close, you snapped your teeth in warning. Norm startled and pushed himself back toward the wall. You smirked at his reaction. "The aliens killed us all."

As the words left your lips, your gaze lifted to the camera again, tracking the steady wink of its red light.

"If you think what the RDA did to the Omatikaya was the worst of it, you are wrong, alien," you continued, voice sharp with venom. "Years ago, they came and killed already. They hid it from the rest of the RDA because even they knew it was wrong. But fear and power are dangerous things to wield."

Your eyes burned into the camera.

"Especially for weak creatures like you. It gets to your head."

Silence followed, thick and uncomfortable, pressing in from every corner of the room. Norm's foot tapped anxiously against the floor as he replayed your words in his mind.

Growing up, you hadn't known what Mercer told the RDA after he slaughtered your entire clan. But you had always known he lied.

When you were little, you still believed the sky people could be gentle. That they were kind, like your people. That you had simply been taken by the worst of them. As the years passed, that hope rotted away. Stories spread across Pandora, whispered between clans, carried by traders and warriors alike. Every story carved the truth deeper into you.

They were rotten. All of them. The scar on your cheek was proof.

You didn't wear it with pride, like the elders once said scars should be worn. You wore it with rage. It was the last thing they had left you—etched into your skin without mercy. A reminder of screams, of blood, of a home erased.

Every time you looked into water, it stared back at you. Every time your fingers brushed your face, they traced it.

You caught Norm looking at it again.

A low hiss slipped from your throat, sharp and instinctive. He flinched, finally tearing his gaze away, glancing up at the camera before looking back at you. He sighed heavily, stood from his stool, and his eyes drifted to the restraints binding your limbs.

Something flickered across his face, conflict, perhaps. Then his gaze dropped to his bloodied hand. He shook his head and turned toward the door.

"Don't move too much," he said quietly. "You were almost dead when we brought you in. Try to sleep. Your body needs it."

You answered with another hiss.

When he disappeared from sight, you let your head fall back against the mattress, eyes sliding shut as a breath escaped you, long and heavy.

You had failed. Toruk Makto lived.

But now you knew the truth. He wasn't immortal. He wasn't chosen beyond consequence. He wasn't untouchable.

If he bled, he could die.

And he would.

ㅤㅤ     ㅤ⟡ more to come...

©fromsil.

Sawtute destroys everything.

They came with gentle smiles and claims of pure hearts, only to reveal how twisted and corrupted they truly were. They conquered lands that were never theirs to take. They never tried to understand the world they had set foot on. Warnings had been sent about the new species on Pandora, but none could have imagined the massacres they would bring.

The Omatikaya paid the high price of trusting humans—again and again—yet it seemed they never learned. None of them ever did. And you were tired of being the whistleblower. They didn’t want to believe you, they wanted to believe humans were good, pure souls. If that was what they chose to believe, then they deserved their doom.

Humans had taken years of your life.

They had taken your entire clan. They had taken your family—your friends, everything you had ever known. It had been a massacre: so many burned, so many killed by metal weapons, all in the name of a plan none of you had ever agreed to be part of. Children were torn from their weeping mothers’ arms, men, women, and grown children slaughtered without hesitation. They showed no pity, no compassion, only violence and rotten hearts.

The Ambassador Program, by John Mercer.

John Mercer.

A name you would never forget. That man tore the children of your clan away from Eywa, forcing you to learn ways that were never yours. He haunted your nightmares—and the nightmares of every other child—returning each time you closed your eyes. Gone were the memories of your forest, of your parents, of your brother and sister. Only he remained in the darkness.

For years, you had feared him, just like the others. He was the head of the Program, the one who set the rules. Whatever he said went. No matter the cruelty, no matter who stood on the other end of the weapon. Human or Na'vi—it made no difference to him. Disobey, and you would reap the consequences.

You had been five you had first stepped foot in the human school. Your older sister, Veyluna, had been the one taking care of you mostly—even when she was barely seven herself. Your brother, Nek'ral, had been older and full of rage. He had been the first one to be punished, and the first one to be killed.

The first time they pressed a metal weapon into your hands, you refused to use it. You refused even to hold it. You would not go against the laws of Eywa. It was forbidden, and no matter how much you cried or begged, it made no difference.

That day, they broke your fingers.

And still, it wasn’t the worst they did to you.

Every day, the threats fell like rain from the sky: no dinner, no sleep, isolation, forced labour. But the worst threat, the one that always worked, the one they eventually relied on once they understood its power, was the threat to cut your kuru.

The ever-looming fear of being severed from Eywa was enough to keep all the children in line. At least for a while. As the older children grew, so did their anger. They remembered more—more of what their lives had been, more of what they were meant to be. How were they supposed to accept a life enslaved by humans, only to be used to gain the trust of other clans for some twisted purpose?

A small rebellion began to grow—quiet, careful, discreet. One wrong move, one word spoken too loudly, and it would have ended before it ever truly began. Eight years had passed since the Sarentu clan was massacred. Eight years of being forced into becoming soldiers in ways that were never yours. It had been too much for your brother.

One night, he woke you—along with your sister and a handful of other children—and forced you out of bed.

It had been their first mistake. Instead of trying to understand you, the humans had taught you their ways: their technology, their weapons. And your brother, he was clever.

But John Mercer was cleverer.

Just as your brother opened the final door to the outside, armoured men arrived, John at their head.

In your misfortune, they didn’t notice that Nek’ral had unlocked the door. When the gunfire erupted, he shoved you through with all the strength left in his body before sealing the door behind you and smashing the control panel. That was what you later realised, because none of the soldiers came running after you through that exit.

It took you a few seconds before you started running. The screams of your friends—your siblings—rang so loudly in your ears that they scarred you forever. Everything after that became a blur as tears streamed down your cheeks.

They may have had technology you didn’t. But you knew the forest.

Alone and grieving, living on automatic and instinct, all you felt was pain. Everything outside frightened you, you no longer remembered how to live in the wild. You didn’t know the nearby clans. You didn’t know the forest. You knew nothing but the Ambassador Program. Years of subtle conditioning had almost made you miss it.

But Eywa sent you a sign.

After days of feeling nothing, of being numb, you found yourself turning back toward the school. Back to see if your brother or sister were still alive. Back to beg them to take you in again. Back to promise you would be good, that you would behave.

As you neared the facilities, several Avatars stood outside, likely returning from a hunt. You had followed the atokirina—Eywa’s seeds—convinced they were guiding you home. That this was a sign. That the Great Mother agreed. When you recognized Alma Cortez among them, the woman who had always spoken softly, who had tried to make things easier, you almost believed in a miracle.

Your legs felt distant as you approached, like they belonged to someone else. Tears slid down your cheeks without you realising when they had started. You were so tired. So scared. So ready to stop running.

Then the words reached you.

"You think he still thinks about it? Years later?" one of the soldiers asked, his voice casual, bored.

You stopped.

"I don’t think, after what happened that day, he’ll ever forget betraying their trust," Alma answered.

The world tilted.

Your ears rang, a sharp, high sound that swallowed everything else. Betraying. Trust. The words didn’t make sense at first, your mind turned them over slowly, like stones, trying to find their meaning.

"I mean, with how it turned into a massacre, he’d better be happy he snitched," another voice added, followed by laughter.

Laughter. Something inside you went quiet.

The forest, the wind, the distant calls of creatures—all of it faded. Your breathing slowed, shallow and mechanical, as if your body had decided it no longer needed you to be present. Your hands trembled, but you couldn’t feel them. You couldn’t feel much of anything.

This was what they thought of it. This was what your clan's death sounded like to them. The day your life ended reduced to a joke shared in passing.

Your knees nearly gave out, but you didn’t fall. Falling would have meant acknowledging it, and your mind refused. Instead, everything slipped away—memories blurring, edges softening, the pain wrapping itself in cotton so thick you couldn’t reach it.

You were very far away now.

And somewhere, through the ringing and the haze, the atokirina drifted past you again, settling on two mounds of earth—shaped disturbingly like human graves. The part of you that still believed in mercy finally, quietly broke.

"Mokasa was surely lucky Mercer listened to him," was the last thing you heard the humans say as they walked away.

Mokasa.

Another name you would never forget.

Gasping, you sat up in your hammock, tears streaming down your cheeks. Controlling your breathing was difficult as flashes of your brother shoving you through the door, before sealing the facilities behind him, replayed over and over in your mind.

You pushed yourself to your feet and quietly left your quarters, seeking fresh air. The night was still young, and the cold air kissed the drying tears on your cheeks—sharp, but grounding. With a deep sigh, you watched the medusoids drift gently across the sky. Below you, the vast ocean, mother to countless species, was just as calm as the stars above.

It was soothing. You had always loved standing on the deck, watching the sky and the endless world beneath you.

It was a quiet joy to see your world peaceful again.

Tales of the Dreamwalker bringing fire and destruction to the Omatikaya travelled fast—faster when most of the forest clans joined in the battles. It broke your heart when you heard he was the new Toruk Makto. The alien was undeserving of such a title. It did not belong to him.

It didn't stop you from wanting to join the fight. You might not respect the new Toruk Makto, but your hatred for the humans burned hotter than anything else in your life. You wanted them gone. All of them.

And that alone should have frightened you.

You didn't care that some claimed innocence, that some said they wished to understand Pandora and its people. They had no right to be here. They couldn't even breathe the air Eywa had blessed this world with without stealing it, filtering it, poisoning it. They carved wounds into the land and called it progress.

Aliens. Invaders. Little demons Pandora needed to be rid of.

The thought brought a sharp, bitter satisfaction, and immediately after, a hollow ache.

Because Eywa did not teach hatred. Humans did.

She taught balance. Connection. The sacredness of all life, even life that did not understand her. You had been taught to listen before striking, to see before judging, to take only what was needed. To mourn every life lost, even an enemy's.

Yet when you closed your eyes, all you could see were burning trees, broken fingers, blood in the dirt, and your brother's back as he shoved you toward freedom and sealed his own fate.

What balance was there in that? Asking only left you without an answer. So you told yourself your hatred was justified. That it was earned. That Eywa would understand, that she had birthed it showing you your brother's grave along with the humans' words that day.

But deep down, you feared she already wouldn't. And so you buried that hatred deep inside of you, with the help of your people—you had learnt to live along with it.

Being part of the Tlalim clan meant you were aware of what happened among the other clans without ever being drawn into their conflicts. The talks of destruction, of massacres only brought a old bitter taste of familiar to you—making you want to join. You had wanted to fight in the war the humans had once again brought to your home, because you were not an innocent child anymore.

But you had been warned: if you left to join the war, you could never return.

Your Olo'eyktan, Marek, had been the one to deliver that truth. It hadn't been a threat—you knew no harm would come to you if you tried to return—but you also knew there were no exceptions to the clan's laws.

The Tlalim did not take sides. They traded. They taught. They travelled.

You held too much respect for Marek, and even though he insisted you owed him nothing, you felt indebted all the same. He had taken you in. He had brought you back from the edge. He had given you the remaining half of your childhood after finding you lost at thirteen. Safe, sheltered, and loved—were the worlds you'd use to describe your life since Marek took you in. He had taught you the Na'vi way again, guiding you to the Tree of Voices when you first visited to the Omatikaya, so you could reconnect with Eywa.

He had taught you how to live again. Now at nineteen, you were happy again. As happy as you could be.

All this made you stay. You traded through those harsh times, listened, observed, and learned. The voices carried news of what had happened, of the war.

How Eywa had granted the alien a Na'vi body as his human one failed. How he had fought, leading the clan to victory atop the Toruk. How the Omatikaya, despite everything, had never forgiven him and ultimately exiled him from their burned lands.

Hearing it had brought a smile to your lips.

Even with all the training in the world, he would not survive on his own. He wasn't part of this world. The Omatikaya were ancient, respected—no other clan would dare take him in. Perhaps the Mangkwan might, but you were certain they would kill him first anyway.

Good. He did not deserve the life Eywa had graced him with.

It had been months since anyone had heard true news of the Toruk Makto. No whispers in the night carried his name anymore. No songs mentioned him. Only silence, and silence on Pandora was never empty.

Word was that he had released Toruk, that the great shadow had risen alone into the sky once more. Some said the Dreamwalker had taken flight on his first ikran, heading east, chasing the sunrise. Others swore they had seen a lone rider vanish into the storm clouds above the mountains, never to return.

There were darker rumours too.

That Eywa had taken back what she had given. That the bond had been flawed from the start, an abomination she could not allow to endure. Some whispered that the forest itself had turned against him—that roots had caught his feet in the night, that the ground had opened and swallowed him whole.

Others claimed he still lived.

That he wandered without a clan, without a name, hunted by memories and spirits alike. That animals fled at his scent, sensing something wrong beneath his borrowed skin. That the atokirina refused to land on him anymore. That he was nothing more than a outcast venturing along waiting for something.

No one agreed on the truth. Every story contradicted the last. But all of them shared one thing: no one had seen him since.

"Shouldn't you be sleeping?" a soft voice asked, pulling you from your thoughts.

You turned to find Nyraki's gentle eyes watching you. The Tsahìk of the clan, she had raised you alongside Marek, her mate. For reasons only Eywa knew, they had never been blessed with a child in their long, mated life. It had not made them bitter or resentful—they had remained happy, kind, and deeply good people.

In the eight years you had lived among the Tlalim, they had treated you as their own. But they never granted you special privileges. It had taken months for you to trust them fully, to tell them your story—everything that had been done to you. Almost everything.

After that, they had vowed to make your life as normal as possible.

And they had succeeded.

Yet as you grew, so did your anger and your need for vengeance.

"Shouldn't you as well?" you teased, accepting a piece of spineberry fruit she offered.

"You sound like Marek," she replied with a quiet laugh, gently tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, making it twitch. "I can sense something is troubling you."

Of course she could.

You smiled at her words. She was a good Tsahìk—and a good mother, in every way that mattered. Growing up in the Tlalim clan, you had often gone to her with your doubts about Eywa, your fears about yourself, about the darkness in your own thoughts and the hatred you carried toward the pink skins. Every time, she told you these feelings were natural as you learned who you were becoming.

But she had never encouraged you to live in that hatred.

She had warned you that it was not a sustainable way to exist—that it would only trap you in grief, longing for a past you could never reclaim.

Without meaning to, your fingers drifted to the mark beneath your eyes—the same mark that bound you to ghosts and memories. Visiting other clans meant speaking with your parents when you connected with your ancestors.

But the anger always returned when you saw your brother. And the hostility you carried toward humans came rushing back with it.

None of them were good. None of them deserved to be here.

With time, you had learned how to conceal it, even from the Tsahìk you had met throughout your life. False smiles. Careful words. Never connecting with Eywa in front of anyone. It was how you slipped past questions and avoided concern.

"It's nothing," you murmured, brushing a stray tear from your cheek.

"Is it about your family?" Nyraki asked, her voice barely above a whisper, careful not to startle you.

"No," you replied too quickly.

Nyraki sighed, long and heavy. You were closing yourself off from her, and she didn't like it. She never had. She had spent countless hours worrying over you as you grew—always gently reassured by her mate that you simply needed time and space.

"Is it about the Toruk Makto?" Nyraki asked, trying to gently coax the truth from you.

"Don't call him that," you snapped, anger flaring sharp and sudden. "That title doesn't belong to him."

"But he is," she replied, her voice as calm as ever, neither startled nor wounded by your outburst. "He tamed the great Toruk."

You clicked your tongue in frustration. As much as the clan refused to take sides, it didn't stop its people from having opinions. Even after they knew your story—or most of it—they still admired the alien.

Even Marek and Nyraki.

"His body doesn't belong to him," you said quietly, though the words were steeped in hatred.

Nyraki studied you for a long moment, her expression unreadable.

"Then who does it belong to?" she asked.

The question lingered between you, heavy as smoke. You opened your mouth, ready to answer, to spit out your anger but she spoke again before you could.

"Eywa does not give without purpose," she said softly. "Nor does she take lightly. If she allowed that body to live, if she bound his spirit to it, then it was not theft."

Your jaw tightened.

"She made a mistake," you muttered. "She shouldn't have saved him."

Nyraki's gaze sharpened, not with anger, but with sorrow. "Eywa does not make mistakes," she replied. "She teaches. Sometimes harshly. Sometimes in ways we do not wish to understand."

You shook your head. "He was human. A alien. He brought war. Fire. Death."

"And yet," Nyraki said, stepping closer, her presence grounding and unavoidable, "he also bled for the People. He rode Toruk not to conquer, but to stop destruction. You cannot deny that."

"I do not care," you hissed. "Nothing he does will undo what his kind took from me. From all of us."

"I know," she said gently. "And Eywa knows."

Her hand came to rest over your chest, just above your heartbeat. "But if you decide his life has no right to exist, you are placing yourself above her will."

The words struck harder than any blow.

"Then where was Eywa when they came for us?" you shouted, not realizing your voice had risen. "Where was Eywa when they taught us with violence, with threats and hatred? Where was the Great Mother for Nek'ral? For me?" Your chest burned with every word, tears running freely down your cheeks. "I am Na'vi. Not an alien!"

The air seemed to vibrate with your anger. Nyraki did not flinch.

She did not raise her voice, did not step back from the force of your anger. Instead, her hand remained over your heart, steady as stone, grounding you even as your breath came ragged.

"I do not know," she said softly—her words quiet, devastating. "But I do know this. Eywa was not in those soldiers. She was not in the metal weapons. Eywa led you here. To us."

"I was not supposed to be with you," you spat, anger still clouding your mind—unaware of how cruel the words sounded as they left you. "I'm supposed to be with my real family."

The moment the words escaped your lips, regret followed. But some small, aching part of you still believed them—still mourning, even after all these years. You had never been given the time to truly grieve your clan, your family. Seeing their souls had helped, yet at the same time, it made it even harder to let them go completely.

"No matter your harsh words, I will always love you like a daughter," Nyraki said softly, before turning away and returning to her mate.

When she was out of earshot, you let out a heavy sob, tears spilling freely down your cheeks.

"It was not your place to love me like that," you whispered into the night.

You stayed where you were, long after Nyraki had gone.

The night stretched wide above you, endless and indifferent. Stars scattered across the sky like distant eyes, watching without judgment, without comfort. The medusoids drifted slowly, their soft glow painting the darkness in pale blues and violets, beautiful in a way that hurt to look at.

Your breath hitched again, and this time you didn't try to stop it.

You folded in on yourself, shoulders shaking as the sobs finally broke free—deep, quiet, tearing their way out of your chest. You pressed a hand over your mouth, as if you could keep the sound from reaching anyone else, as if grief itself was something shameful. Tears soaked into your fingers, warm against the cold night air.

"I'm tired," you whispered to the stars. The words felt small. Inadequate. "I'm so tired."

Memories surfaced unbidden—your mother's laugh, your father's steady hands, your siblings' voices calling your name through the forest. Fragments of a life that had ended too violently, too suddenly. You clutched at them desperately, afraid that if you let go, even the pain would fade, and they would be lost to you forever.

You tipped your head back, letting the tears fall freely now.

The ocean below remained calm, breathing in slow, patient rhythms. Somewhere far away, a creature called out into the night, its voice echoing across the water. Life went on—unbothered, unscarred.

You felt impossibly small beneath it all.

At last, exhaustion crept in, heavy and suffocating. You hugged your knees to your chest, rocking slightly as the worst of the storm passed. Your tears slowed, leaving behind an ache that settled deep in your bones.

And alone beneath the stars, you grieved—not loudly, not beautifully—but honestly, in the only way you knew how.

It had been decided.

As the Tlalim slowly approached the Clouded Forest, you came to a final choice—one that would isolate you for the rest of your life, if you even made it out alive. Standing on the deck, you gently braided a child's hair while your gaze drifted to Marek and Nyraki.

A long month had passed since that night. Since then, you had apologized to Nyraki. Looking her in the eyes had been difficult, shame gnawing at you constantly. These people, this clan, had done everything they could to welcome you, to help you feel alive again, to keep you safe, to love you.

And this was how you had repaid them?

Since that night, you had made yourself useful. You cooked for the elders, watched over the youngling, flew patrols as a lookout for the Mangkwan even with Nyraki's concern about it. You worked harder, stayed quieter, asked for nothing.

If anyone noticed the change, they said nothing.

You tied off the last braid and sent the child on their way, watching him disappear into the hum of the deck. The airship groaned softly as it cut through the clouds, the Clouded Forest looming closer with every passing moment.

You felt it before you saw him.

Marek stood a short distance away, arms folded behind his back, gaze fixed not on the horizon but on you. There was no accusation in his eyes. Only understanding. The kind that settled heavy in your chest.

"I won't stop you," he said, settling beside you. "The Tlalim do not cage their people." His gaze softened. "But know this, whatever your heart believes it must do, it is not the only choice you have."

"It's the only one that will give me peace," you replied, unable to meet his eyes.

They could never truly understand.

Eywa's teachings spoke of the sacredness of all life—from the smallest insect to the most dangerous predator. But you had not been raised solely in her ways. You had been shaped by humans. Humans who placed value only on what could serve them. Who saw animals as resources and innocent lives as acceptable losses if they happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.

That cruelty had been carved into you.

The RDA was gone now. They had fled Pandora. Yet their absence did nothing to soothe the fire still burning in your soul, because one name continued to poison your dreams.

Mokasa. Advisor of the Kame'tire clan. Clan of the Clouded Forest.

It had taken eight years to find the courage to pursue what you had dreamed of the moment you first heard his name. He was a traitor. And traitors did not deserve to live while the blood of an entire clan still stained their hands.

"Didn't you find peace here?" Marek asked quietly, sadness clouding his eyes—as if he believed he had failed you somehow.

"Of course I did," you answered quickly. "You cannot understand."

"No," he said simply. His arm slipped around your shoulders, drawing you closer. "I can't. But that doesn't mean we want you gone. This is your home. It has been your home for years."

You looked into his soft, golden eyes and couldn't help the small smile that formed at his words. No matter how harsh you were, how cold or angry you became, Marek always saw past it. He and his mate never took it personally.

After everything you had endured—after the childhood that had been stolen from you—they justified your anger, your mood changes, your harsh moments down to your most cruel words. Perhaps they shouldn't have. Those words carried weight, and you often hurled them without meaning to, blinded by feelings too sharp to control.

Guilt and regret always followed, chasing you back to them with your tail tucked low, apologies spilling from your lips. Each time, you promised it wouldn't happen again. Each time, the promise rang hollow.

Deep down, a part of you believed you didn't deserve their love—or their gentle souls. That the clan would be better without you.

"There's something I have to do," you said finally. "Something that won't leave me until it's done. I've tried to bury it, but it always comes back. It won't pass…"

You trailed off, unable, or unwilling, to say more.

When you had first told them your story, you had spoken Mokasa's name aloud. You suspected they knew now as you kept on asking about the Clouded Forest. Maybe not the details. But they had always known something dark and restless had been growing inside you all these years.

And it was done waiting.

"Once it's done, I can never come back," you whispered, staring at the ground, unwilling to see the worry on his face. "The Tlalim do not take sides…"

"What—" Marek began, but his words were cut short by screams.

"Mangkwan!" someone shouted.

The deck erupted into chaos as people rushed for their ikrans.

You looked up just in time to see a nightwraith streak past the airship, war cries echoing through the sky. Arrows and fire rained down around you. It was the first attack from the Mangkwan since the war with the RDA had ended. For a time, the clans had hoped they had finally realized the others were not their enemies.

It had been too good to be true.

You sprang to your feet, calling for your ikran as you ran for your bow and arrows. As you crossed the deck, you heard Nyraki calling your name. She had never liked you defending the ship but you were not about to sit and hide while your people were slaughtered in the sky.

Never again would you be useless to your people.

Kaelir waited for you at the edge of the deck, restless and eager for the fight. It wasn't for nothing that she had chosen you. You had always believed she sensed the anger and fire inside you. Kaelir was dear to your heart, and the moment you formed tsaheylu, she launched herself into the air without hesitation.

You spared one last glance behind you.

Marek and Nyraki stood frozen, worry etched deeply into their faces. Nyraki's hand was pressed to her mouth, and you thought you saw tears streaking down her cheeks. Fighting the Mangkwan was nothing new, you couldn't understand why this felt different.

Perhaps it was because one of your airships had already fallen. Or perhaps it was because the Mangkwan were more aggressive than ever before.

And something inside you whispered that this fight would change everything.

Kaelir screamed her war cry as she dove, the wind tearing past your face—cold, sharp enough to burn. The bond between you thrummed with shared emotion: rage, focus, exhilaration, all amplified. Below, the airship lurched as another flaming arrow struck its hull, smoke curling upward, thick and choking.

You didn't think. You moved. You could not lose your second home, not without a fight.

A Mangkwan rider cut across your path, his ikran banking hard, jaws snapping as it surged toward you. You leaned low against Kaelir's neck, fingers already nocking an arrow. Time stretched thin.

Breath. Aim. Release. The arrow flew true.

The rider cried out as it struck, his grip breaking as he toppled into the mist below. His mount shrieked, spiralling away. There was no triumph in it, only grim necessity. Kaelir wheeled sharply, narrowly avoiding a burst of fire that tore through the air where you had been a heartbeat before.

More riders closed in.

Kaelir dove hard, twisting through the sky to avoid arrows you hadn't even seen coming. You pressed yourself low against her back, aiming again and releasing—missing as the Mangkwan warrior veered away. A frustrated growl tore from your throat as Kaelir surged upward once more, snapping for the throat of an ikran that crossed your path.

You watched the rider fall, the ikran following soon after. Neither was dead, but if the beast didn't recover in time, the Mangkwan would not survive the fall.

There was no time to watch. Another arrow screamed past your head.

The sky was chaos, shadows and wings and screams, arrows flashing like falling stars. You caught glimpses of other Tlalim fighters, their ikrans twisting and diving in practiced formations. Below, another airship burned, its lights flickering as it began to sink into the clouds.

Your chest tightened. Not again.

A nightwraith surged up from beneath you, its rider hurling a spear. Kaelir rolled instinctively, the weapon grazing your shoulder instead of piercing your chest. Pain flared—hot, blinding—but you bit it back, clinging tighter, pressing your heels into Kaelir's sides.

"Go!" you shouted.

She obeyed instantly, climbing hard, wings beating with furious strength. At the peak of the ascent, she folded them and dropped, straight down toward the enemy. You loosed arrow after arrow, each shot fuelled by the fire in your blood, by memories of smoke and screams and a door slamming shut behind you forever.

This was what the humans had made of you.

A Mangkwan rider lunged too close. You met his eyes for a fraction of a second—wild, hateful, convinced of his own righteousness. Your arrow struck his throat. He fell without a sound.

A smirk curved your lips, adrenaline dulling fear, but then another rider appeared.

Her nightwraith was larger, darker, more vicious than the others. Her eyes burned with rage so familiar it felt like looking into a mirror.

The arrow came fast.

Pain exploded in your thigh as Kaelir twisted away too late. Turning your back had been a mistake. Another arrow followed, slamming into your shoulder, missing your heart by inches.

The impact ripped the strength from your arms.

Your fingers slipped. You fell.

The world spun as you plummeted, air screaming past your ears. Looking up, you saw it—one burning arrow punching straight through Kaelir's throat as she dove after you, trying to reach you before you fell.

A sound tore from you, raw and broken, as you reached for her on instinct. Then pain bloomed white-hot along your left side.

And the forest swallowed you whole.

When you opened your eyes, pain flared everywhere at once—burning, blinding flashes tearing through your body. You were tangled in branches and thick roots, your limbs twisted at unnatural angles, the massive tree having broken your fall.

You tried to move.

A scream ripped from your throat as burning agony surged with even the smallest shift. It was the worst pain you had ever known. Nothing the RDA had done to you compared to this—at least not physically.

This was the end.

Blood ran warm down your skin, soaking into bark and leaves beneath you. Through the haze, your thoughts drifted to the Tlalim. When you had fallen, the Mangkwan had begun to retreat, finally realizing they were outnumbered. You could only hope Merak and Nyraki were safe. That the rest of the clan still lived.

Your eyelids grew heavy. Strangely, relief followed.

You were finally going home. Back to your family. Back to the voices you had missed for so long. No more partings. No more loss.

Tears slipped down your cheeks, not from pain, which was already dulling but from the fragile happiness blooming in your chest. It was finally over. No more anger. No more hatred. No more anything.

"Oh God…"

The words reached you through the fog.

English. How?

Hands cupped your face, lifting your head gently, urgently. You couldn't open your eyes anymore. Darkness pressed in, soft and inevitable.

But just before it claimed you, before you let go, you felt something wrong. Something impossible.

Five fingers.

ㅤㅤ     ㅤ⟡ next

©fromsil.

a.n. : okay so it begins. just so you know, i've been obsessed with jake sully ever since seeing the first avatar in 2009... so it's been a bit of time already. another thing, it was totally not on purpose that it would talk about some lore of the avatar: frontiers of pandora game as i chose a random clan on the wiki and it happened to be the one of the main character of the game. it was so fitting what i wanted to do with this fic, that i kept it. never played the game, all the lore i know is from the wiki, but i did read a lot about it lmao! anyways, hope you liked it, cause it means a lot to me and i'll try updated it once every two weeks as i have others things going on! (and swatute means sky people, is the na'vi term for humans)

She laid on her back, cushioned by the mossy ground below the Tree of Souls. Purple bioluminescence shadowed her face, outlining how much pain she was in. Another contraction evidently tore through her as her whole body tensed and her face contorted.

“He is coming,” you encouraged her. You looked over your shoulder to Max to get an update on the Olo’eyktan’s arrival. The scientist shook his head at you and your heart sank to your toes. 

Max gripped his comms as he spoke back and forth with Neytiri’s husband. Jake would miss the birth of his child if he did not hurry.

Neytiri groaned in agony, grabbing your arm in an iron hold. “You are doing well Neytiri.” you muttered, brushing away the hairs that stuck to her face.

“If I do not live, I want you to take care of Jake and the baby,” Neytiri demanded, looking up to you with wide, terrified eyes. 

“Do not speak that way, just breathe,” you redirected her, grabbing her hand with both of yours as Mo’at started chanting.

“Something is wrong. Just promise me this!” Neytiri exclaimed, a bead of sweat rolled down her forehead. 

“I will, I will take care of them,” you promised, feeling as if you had just signed her death sentence.

“Good, good.” She nodded, sighing in relief, slumping down on the forest floor but her hand never lost its grip. “His name is Neteyam. He will carry the songs of the ancestors in his heart. A brave leader, a fearsome warrior,” she whispered to the tree canopy high above.

“A strong name, he is already like his mother,” you smiled, your bottom lip trembling.

“We have to do a C-section!” Max called from where he was looking at his machine near Neytiri’s knees. “We don’t have time to take her back to the lab, it’s here and now.”

“She needs to push,” You corrected, but Mo’at shook her head sadly. “The baby is twisted, we will have to cut.”

Her words stole the breath from your lungs. Neytiri was right, something was wrong. Neytiri’s chances of recovering from that were slim. A mother always knows.

“Save the baby! I die either way,” Neytiri ground out.

“Mo’at?” Max asked, knowing he had to follow the rules of the clan, follow the Tsa’hik’s orders since the Olo’eyktan was absent.

“I will do it,” Mo’at muttered, unsheathing her knife and raising it above her daughter.

-

When you walked off of the raised dais with a swaddled baby in your arms, you could barely think of what to do next. Your hands felt numb and your ears rang as the baby cried. Little Neteyam, singing already.

The only thing you could think of was the last living parent this child had. “Jake needs to be here,” was what you managed to say. Mo’at’s cries could be heard from the tree of souls as she held her daughter’s lifeless body.

Max nodded and he pursed his lips. “He is heading back now, he finally came in over comms.”

Jake had been many leagues away from the forest when his wife had gone into a swift and early labor. This was the first year Jake had represented the Omatikayan’s as Olo’eyktan at the meeting of the clans. Every tribe gathered several times a year to discuss problems and come to solutions. It was to build community and create unity. They were meeting in the plains, a half a day’s ride from the forest.

“Do not tell him of her death until he arrives,” you said, knowing he could do something reckless on the way home if he knew. The baby needed him.

-

Eclipse was drenching the clearing in darkness when Jake finally ran through the trees. You knew he had known this would not be a joyful day, but the anguish on his face was visible even in the relative darkness. 

His mantle was missing from his regalia, but he was slathered in paint and adornments from the celebrations. He must have flown straight here. His dreads fell around his shoulders, creating a curtain as his head hung in sorrow. You heard the first sob rip through his throat and you held Neteyam closer.

Norm grabbed Jake as he collapsed at the sight of his wife laying on the moss, Mo’at still so deep in her grief that she had not noticed his arrival. You watched as Jake clutched Neytiri’s body and wept.

It would be hours before he looked for his son. In the meantime, you cleaned Neteyam and checked over him for any injuries sustained from the surgery. He was a perfect, healthy baby boy, maybe a tiny bit small from being born a few days earlier than expected. He slept on and off, crying when he woke up to see his mother still had not awoken.

Norm kindly brought you powder that mixed with water to become milk, promising it would work until there was a better solution. The humans had a baby boy that lived with them, Spider, who had recently weaned off of it a few months ago. He figured it would work similarly for a Na’vi baby.

You sat on the ground and fed Neteyam while you waited for Jake and Mo’at to finish saying goodbye. You mourned for your friend, but you would respect her wishes best now by stamping down that welling flood of tears and sorrow to focus on her little boy. His three little fingers curled around yours as you held the bottle to his mouth.

He was precious. A shock of jet black hair sat on his head, his bioluminescent freckles glowed to life as the sun descended behind the trees. His freckles were vaguely similar to Jake’s yet his stripe pattern was unarguably Neytiri’s. You traced a small glowing dot under his chin and he cooed.

Jake stumbled over and dropped in front of you, crossing his legs as he observed you holding his baby. “Your son is strong, he is Neteyam,” you said, voice hoarse and breaking.

“Neteyam,” he tested the word in his mouth and must have liked it. He held out his arms and you passed over the baby. Jake looked at you in numb gratitude as you settled the baby to his chest.

Now that the bundle was no longer in your arms, the responsibility having passed on to another for a moment, the weight of the day crashed down on you. You subconsciously started slowly rocking side to side, your cheeks growing wet with tears as you watched Jake hold his baby for the first time. 

“He looks just like her,” Jake murmured, holding out a hand to brush along Neteyam’s face. 

“She lives on in him,” you agreed. Your voice wobbled and Jake looked up at you for the first time. Sad eyes met sad eyes, two people who had lost so much.  

His lips quivered as he let out another sob, swallowing it down as he looked back to his son. You reached out a hand and placed it on his, “She lives on with the ancestors now Jake. She feels no pain, she is with her father, her sister. Take comfort in that,” you said, even as you closed your eyes and more tears fell down your face. 

“Thank you, for taking care of him,” Jake croaked.

“Neytiri made me promise to watch over him. I am at your disposal,” you swore.

Jake nodded, looking back down to his son, “I think he’s falling asleep,” he said after a moment. You looked to see he was correct. 

“New babies sleep a lot,” you informed him, “He needs to rest, and so do you. Let the others make preparations, you need to sleep.”

Jake numbly nodded, not thinking all that straight as he went to stand up. You helped him not drop Neteyam, supporting the baby as he rose on weak legs.

-

None of you rested well that first night in the kelku he once shared with Neytiri. You and she used to weave baskets and prepare meals here. You watched her belly swell and heard her dreams for her unborn child while you sat on the floor.

Neteyam laid in a woven bassinet on wooden legs that his father and mother had worked together many weeks to make for him. He screamed into the night, and each time, you and Jake both rushed to accommodate him. Jake was frantic and half lucid while trying to make his son happy.

You were the steadying force, showing Jake how to make a bottle, change Neteyam’s soiled clothes and sing him a song to calm him, eventually taking over each time when you noticed how badly Jake’s hands were shaking.

Jake laid alone in his hammock for the first time in nearly a year, reaching out to feel for Neytiri in his sleep and jerking away each time he found it was empty.

You laid on the floor, tossing and turning but sleep never found you. You cried silently into the night and you heard Jake doing the same, both too swallowed in your own grief to comfort the other. 

-

Several months later, you stood before Jake in the kelku that had quickly become a primary home for you. You were dressed with special adornments for the ceremony with his 3 month old baby at your side, resting in a netted wrap that secured him to your front. Jake fiddled aimlessly with Neteyam’s tiny arm cuff and straightened it out before his eyes found yours. 

Jake wore his Olo’eyktan feathered mantle over his shoulders, looking every part of his title. A white dividing line split his face, matching the one on yours and Neteyam’s faces as you still mourned Neytiri. The line represented your soul being cleaved in two at the death of someone so close to you and you still feel the ache there at the loss.

“You should do this alone,” you muttered, not wanting to overstep or make Jake feel you needed to be included.

“You have helped me every step of the way. Neteyam probably wouldn't have survived me by myself. You deserve to be up there with us so you get to see his face,” Jake said, a small smile made its way to his lips as Neteyam grabbed onto a piece of your hair.

“But I am not his mother,” you reminded him.

“Maybe not, but Neytiri chose you for a reason. He is a piece of you now, like it or not,” Jake corrected, reaching down to pluck a piece of jewelry from a basket near the door and walked back over to you.

“I think you should wear this, she would have wanted you to have it.” Jake said. He took your free hand in his and attached a green beaded bracelet that spanned half your forearm. It was the piece that you had made for Neytiri to celebrate her pregnancy so many months ago now. You had poured all of your hopes and wishes for her new life into this bracelet, praying it would remind her of a friend who loved her. 

Now, all those hopes for her were gone and dead. You had been forced to gather all of the pieces of her life and poorly cobble them together for Neteyam’s sake, and for Jake’s. You knew they would not have made it this far without you, but you still felt that you had super imposed yourself over Neytiri’s life, taking her spot as if it was something that could be filled.

Your eyes welled with tears as Jake admired the bracelet on your wrist. “I spent many days making this for her. I was so excited for this baby to arrive,” your voice broke as you started crying, Neteyam tugged on the piercing in your earlobe, but you barely noticed. 

Jake gently swept Neteyam’s hand away and pulled you into his chest as you cried. “Hey, I know. I know…” Jake murmured. He pulled your head down to rest on his shoulder. You shielded Neteyam from being crushed between you, but Jake’s presence was still a firm comfort.

You cried and he held you. What a relief to not be going through this horrible thing alone. He dragged a hand down your back, whispering soft platitudes to you until your tears slowed and you picked your head up.

“Today is supposed to be happy, it's gonna be okay, babygirl.” Jake offered, dragging a thumb under each of your eyes to dry your tears. 

You nodded, forcing a wry smile to your face and sniffling. “That’s the spirit, there she is,” Jake whispered, a soft, genuine smile found his lips and it eased the heaviness in your heart.

“We are going to be late,” you muttered, holding on to Neteyam securely with one hand and taking the wrap off of your neck with the other. 

“They can’t start without us,” he reminded you, as he circled around to start untying the contraption at your back. 

The net came loose and fell away from your body. Jake took it and wrapped it up in a ball, throwing it into a basket. 

“Come, your son wants to see his mother again,” you said, holding out Neteyam who reached out wriggling hands for his father. Jake’s mouth turned into a grim line as he held his son and carried him throughout the village to the tree of souls. 

Mo’at was waiting for you in the clearing as she waved a wrinkled hand at her grandson. The people surrounded her in a circle, arms interlocking as you passed to close in around the family.

You stepped to the side, finding a relative near the inner circle to clasp arms with. You still didn't want to overstep your boundaries. As much as you wanted to be with Neteyam as he connected with Eywa for the first time, you knew you were not his blood family. You had no tangible reason to be up there with them. 

Jake spun around, looking for you when he realized you were no longer beside him. He furrowed his hair covered brows at you, gesturing for you to follow.

You simply smiled sadly and nodded him forward, wanting him to have the moment with his son. He shook his head once, "We're waiting on you, come on," he said, waving you over again.

You looked to Mo’at who looked back at you expectantly, “Come child,” she urged you impatiently. 

You blushed lightly and joined them both under the tree. Mo’at started chanting, the people following her lead as Jake held Neteyam up to a vine. You watched Neteyam's little face in wonder as Mo’at attached his kuru to the tree, the vine glowing purple as the connection was made. 

Neteyam’s tiny face lit up in joy as he saw things you couldn't. You placed a hand on Jake’s bicep and saw he was also grinning broadly at his son. His eyes met yours and you exchanged meaningful looks. You liked to imagine Neteyam was meeting his mother again now, that maybe her arms carried him as she showed her creation to the ancestors. 

-

Neteyam’s screams tore through the night, as they often did. You groaned softly, rolling out of your hammock before you stumbled over to his bassinet. 

You had stayed with the Sully boys far past the first night because of Neteyam’s nightly tantrums. You were the only one who could calm him down. Mo’at had tried so you could get some sleep, but it was to no avail. Even Jake hardly made a dent, only having success after several hours of trying. 

No, it was easier if you were the one to care for him. Now that Neteyam was six months old, connecting to Eywa brought him peace more than any person could and you brought him to the Tree of Souls on nights where he was nearly inconsolable.

That is where your feet brought you now. The night was cool and mild, the perfect night to be at peace and think. Your sleep deprived mind found comfort in the breeze that swept past, lifting your hair.

You held Neteyam in the crook of your arm as you attached his kuru, his eyes closed and his cries died down, replaced with a content smile. 

You hesitated, but you too attached your kuru to a nearby branch and relaxed as you were transported to a new scene. Neytiri stood before you, her eyes bright and her mouth upturned as she cuddled Neteyam in her arms.

“Neytiri,” you sighed, happy to see her as she was meant to live. Lush greenery surrounded her as sat in the area outside of the kelku, a spot you walked through several times a day. You lowered yourself to the ground in front of her.

“Hello friend,” Neytiri replied, glancing up at you as she held her son’s miniscule hand. “He is healthy. You have done well caring for him, as well as I would have,” she grinned knowingly.

“I have done my best,” you noted, releasing a tired sigh.

“And that has made you exhausted,” she observed.

“Yes, but we have begun to find happiness again. I will not be tired forever. Your son is worth the effort,” you replied.

She nodded, “and my husband?” she asked pointedly.

Your eyes widened as she stared at you carefully taking in your reaction.

“What about him? He is well,” you murmured, a flash of panic hit you and you worried she would rebuke you. 

“He visits me and speaks of you often. He confesses that he cares for you, that it is turning into something more,” she cocks her head.

“I- I did not know he felt that way,” you stammered. 

“I thought as much, although I can see you feel the same,” she pointed out, leaning closer to you.

“Neytiri…” you started, but ran out of words to say as she shook her head and her expression shifted.

“The first time I brought him to hometree, I saw the way he looked at you. I saw how you admired him. I thought even then that you would make a good pair, but Eywa had other plans and I grew to love him. I loved him so much,” she smiled in thought.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice not daring to get louder. 

“For what friend? It is your turn to love him now. I told you to take care of him, did I not?” she asked impatiently.

You huffed out a laugh at her abrupt turn. “I did not think you meant in that way.”

“Love is the strongest form of care,” she affirmed. She turned her head, hearing something you could not. “He has come for you. Go to him with my blessing, the Olo’eyktan cannot carry the mantle alone.”

“Thank you Neytiri.” you nodded, eyes clouding with tears as your dearest friend caressed her baby's face. “Give me another moment with my son,” she requested. 

“As long as you wish,” you granted before you opened your eyes.

Purple light filled your vision as you blinked away tears. You reached up and gently tore your kuru from the vine, turning to see Jake watching you with calculating eyes.

“He was crying?” Jake asked after a moment, gesturing to his son who sat at your hip with his eyes closed. 

“Yes, he is happy with his mother now, but she told me something interesting,” you explained to him. 

Jake lifted his brows, “oh yeah?” He stepped closer to you, threading his fingers through the bioluminescent vines as he cocked his head to face you, “What was that?”

“She said you were growing to care for me,” you said, watching as his eyes narrowed, searching yours for any sign. “She sent me with her blessing, although I am still uncertain.”

Jake paused, “Uncertain?” he asked for clarification.

“We are still mourning her. We have been raising a child together. Our feelings are muddy right now,” you explained and his face tensed. 

“Maybe, but I know somewhere in that mud is… feelings for you,” he said.

You sucked in a breath and smiled. “I want you to make sure that you have enough time. Do not move on without healing what has been hurt,” you urged.

He paused before saying, “I know, but in truth you have healed so many of those parts of me already. Neytiri left a big hole in my heart that will always be there, but you make it hurt a little less each day,” he reached out a hand and grasped yours.

You smiled up at him, comforted by his words. You opened your mouth to reply, when a floating shape crossed between your faces. You paused, realizing what was happening.

A dainty Atokirina touched down on your intertwined hands, resting there as Jake’s wide eyes met yours. More floating seeds caught your attention, as Jake pulled Neteyam’s kuru off of the tree so you could turn and watch them all. 

The clearing had filled with Atokirinas while your backs had been turned and the air was full of the glowing white light. More Atokirinas landed on you, sporadically dotting your skin from your head to your feet.

“I guess Eywa has some thoughts on the pairing,” Jake muttered, his eyes filled with wonder as he took in the scene. You turned your head slightly to see that he was also covered in the seeds of the sacred tree. 

Neteyam reached for an Atokirina that had landed on your shoulder and they took off back into the air. The wind carried them out of the clearing and deeper into the forest.

“I have never seen a sign such as that,” you said in awe, watching as the last seed twisted out of your view.

“You’ll get used to it, that’s like my third miraculous sign this year,” he shrugged, swiveling a playful grin to you.

“Well we are not all Toruk Makto,” you teased. 

His smile faltered, “I know you said you are still uncertain, but I think that was a sign, if anything, to tell you that I love you,” he declared, and his eyes sharpened as if he had to say the words. “I love your strength, your kindness. I love the way you care for Neteyam. No one has been there for me like you have, and you want nothing from me. You have helped me in so many ways and you’re so steady. I need you, babygirl. I can't do this without you.”

You stared back at him, stepping back as the shock registered. You had been requesting he take it slow and now he plunged into the deep end. 

“You don't feel the same,” he misread your apprehension.

“No, that is not it. I just do not want you to get confused. I am not Neytiri, I don't have her strength or fearlessness. We are very different. Do not just love me because I am here,” you pleaded, not willing to have your heart crushed.

“Babygirl, no,” Jake scoffed, he cupped your face in his hands and made you look him in the eyes. “I love you very differently than I love Neytiri. She will always hold a place in my heart, but she's gone. You are here right now in front of me, but if you weren't, I'd search until I found you, like I do nearly every day. I always want you in my sight because you're beautiful and I miss you. I want to hear your thoughts and for you to tell me about your day. My favorite thing is to see you hold Neteyam while you sleep, or find that he is attached to you in that damn net. You are too deeply ingrained in my heart for me to know where you start and I end. I love you,” He repeated.

“Ma’ Jake…” you murmured, not knowing how to verbalize your feelings or even where to start.

“Just tell me you feel the same,” he begged and it hurt your soul to make him wait anymore. You wrapped the arm not holding Neteyam around his neck and dragged his lips to yours. His hands immediately found your waist as he sank into the kiss.

Warmth spread from his body to yours as you leaned your weight on him, your pulse raced as he pulled you in impossibly tight. You started to pull away, but his mouth chased yours. You felt his lips curving and you knew yours were doing the same.

A tiny hand grabbed a dread from Jake's hair, and tugged hard, his small body already having so much strength. Jake hissed as he recoiled from you and you opened your eyes to see Neteyam's fist clutched around Jake's hair still. You barked out a laugh as Neteyam giggled at his dad’s expression.

“Little cockblocker,”Jake muttered under his breath, pulling Neteyam’s fist away and placing a kiss on it. 

“That is your son, ma’ Jake,” you chided him for the name calling, although you did not know what the human term meant, just that it could not be good from Jake’s tone.

“Well I certainly didn't teach him to do that,” Jake complained, taking Neteyam from your arms and balancing the baby at his waist. “That one must have been you.”

“I did no such thing,” you pouted as Jake draped his free arm around your shoulders and started leading you back towards the village to start the day. 

“Maybe he just has his own natural talents,” Jake smiled and you followed, reaching out a hand to hold Neteyam’s. “Now that I know is true.”

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