#human jake

It hadn't started with notes. It was handwritten for sure, but it had no accompanying laid-out note or explanation. No romantic hint. It was just a handmade booklet. Perhaps twenty pages front and back with common na’vi phrases, their meaning, context, origin and very simplified phonetic pronunciation attached in colour codes.

He had been talking with Norm that same day about his lack of progress in the Na’vi language. It slowly turned to bitching, but Norm was not having any of it that day with half of his samples from the forest having been contaminated and months of work deemed useless. And after he finished throwing out, 

“That’s why we needed your brother. You’re useless! You don’t even know the language!” he had stalled. He has been fiddling with things on his desk in an attempt to distract from the anger but he only succeeds in shoving things to the ground. But at his harsh words, he finally stilled, turning to Jake quickly.

It had felt like being sucker-punched, but Jake just nodded.

“Oh Jake, I’m s-”

“No. You're right.”

And that had been that. He was done bitching, especially to him. To all of them. He had pushed his wheels forward, stirring through the slough of people in the bio lab, trying not to meet anyone's eyes. But he knew the outburst caught everyone's attention, perhaps even the first bound Na’vi. He was still trying to ignore the burn in his throat and the ache in his arms.

His heart.

Norm was right. They all were. He was just saying what they all were thinking. Tommy would have been better suited here. He was better suited for everything.

He was just better.

Now he flipped through the pages in the empty bio lab. Noting the straight lines, the even spacing, and the flourish of the words. Even the slight tilt at times as if you had leaned into the desk and your head had fallen to one side as you wrote. Like you were tired and needed rest as you worked. Made sense. It must have taken an age.

After his tantrum and norm’s outburst he had left, hiding out in his room and trying to sleep it off till' link time, but that was cancelled, so he just continued to roll around the room-his new form  of pacing, in a self-deprecating daze. 

Lunch came and went, and he stayed. Dinner came and went but he stayed. Only after midnight did he venture out, tired of being a pussy. Tired of being thought of as a burden. 

He was not a quitter and so he would practice more. He would get better, maybe even better than Norm, and all the language notes were in the lab. So he headed that way. It was late, maybe 23:00 and he loved the silence of the halls in contrast to the usual buzz of the morning he’s thrust into. 

And the booklet had been waiting for him on his corner bench when he got there that same day. Right in the middle so it wouldn't be missed. 

Accompanied by a few random throw-away folders and papers on his desk, probably to conceal the booklet. No one else would have noticed it like this, and assumed a marine was messy or stringent, no in between, but he knew how he left his space and this was not it. So he had shifted the coloured flyers away and found the true purpose of the mess. 

Now he just stared at it, every letter, every line like a coveted book. His gospel.

It got less neat near the end, but to your credit, everything he knew of was correct. Whiteout highlighted pen strokes that were a bit too harsh or a letter that was blurred by the heavy use of ink on delicate twists. Small notes were written on the paper beside said errors like “sorry” and “my bad:,) '', all curved and pretty around every misstep like a comforting arm around a person. He felt his heart flip at the sight.

A small note was written there on that booklet. Severely tilted in nature and splayed across the back. Perhaps that could have counted as the first romantic note if he read into it too much. He didn’t.

‘Don't let anyone tell you what you can and can't do.

Or what you’re capable of.  

Even doctors.

(Especially doctors.)

Or at least that's what the wonderfully intelligent man I know once said.

Perhaps you know him?’

He felt his lip wobble before his vision blurred and he smiled. For the first time in a very long time. He had stayed in that lab all night, not turning in until he knew half the words he said by heart and half he said out loud were mildly correct. He knew what he was capable of.

******

The second time was before another link and it was a week later. He had spent every day peeking around corners as if he would catch the person’s eye. Stalking the lab, circling like a shark, waiting-praying someone or hell something would put another note on his lab desk. But the amount of new heart-achingly sweet notes he received throughout the week was zero. 

It must have been a fluke, maybe even a prank but it didn’t seem right. It was too kind to be a prank, so perhaps it was just a one-off thing.

He pulled himself into the gel bed of the link pod before someone else secured the metal and top over him. The hint of green light of the pod showcased a small dangling piece of paper, ripped hastily apart from a lab sheet and hung by a single piece of scotch tape. 

Confusion overrode curiosity, and he just put it in his pocket, too distracted with the idea of being in his avatar body to think it through much. 

Only remembered it was there later when changing as he heard a crackling in his front pocket. Shaky hands pulled out the note, noticing a hint of an initial on the corner that he squinted at.

‘Good luck today! You look cute!’

He snorted, crumpling it into a ball.

He was gonna kill Norm.

*******

Norm, Grace and Trudy had dragged him out for drinks one day earlier that week after the outburst was apologized for and he could stand being in the same room with him again. 

It honestly only took a day to get over it. He knew he was the dissapointment of Project Pandora and he could live with that if it wasn't shoved in his face every goddamn day. It was easy to be distracted from that thought anyways, with a beer and two tequila shots in he felt delightfully buzzed, and that is the only reason he is putting up with the conversation as it turns to him. 

He swore they had delved into his lack of a love life right away before he even really met the sight of the compound's bar. And Jake tried desperately not to make it obvious he knew of Trudy and Norm’s budding arrangement. The littered hickeys just above shirt collars and a general swagger to Norm’s lanking frame after one of Trudy's nights off didn't make it hard to figure out. 

Even for a jarhead marine. It did not need genius to put two and two together.

“Have you had many girlfriends?” Trudy asked, her vodka shot carefully held by two fingers beside her.

“No. Surprising right?”

They laughed, but Trudy did seem genuinely shocked. He was flattered even if he didn't understand why she was so confused. He didn't even ask if she had meant before or after the injury. 

He just assumed it was after. Most of the questions are about after. 

A brief pause filtered the stale air, murmurs of Grace yelling at the bartender far from them chiming in, making Jake smile just slightly. He just focused on tapping out a rhythm on the slightly sticky wooden table in the small warm light bar.  

“No admirers?” Trudy asked, one brow up behind her curtain bangs.

Jake just shook his head, his stomach churning at the thought. No one wanted him. Not after. He didn't have much to offer, at least not below the belt. But his hands still worked and they were strong. Could be put to great use he thought, many people did not agree. And he'd never say no to a woman sitting on his face. But still whenever anyone looked at him it was with pity, not the lust or interest he had been used to as a marine. He had gotten around with everyone he could then, he grew to love sex and he missed it. 

It was different now, he knew that much. 

Mulling over that he missed the look they gave each other. Missed Norm mouthing your name over Jake’s shoulder with a raised brow and Trudy just smiling back so hard it must have hurt, nodding enthusiastically before scoffing as she saw Jake’s downward gaze. 

He looked like a moping puppy. God help him.

 She huffed, tilting her shot in the air in mock cheers, which Norm matched before throwing it back, revelling in the deep burn.

******

The third time he was in avatar form. He stopped by the lab for routine blood tests every month and this was one of them. But it was not a good day. He had effectively knocked his head on not one, but two doorways since entering Hell’s Gate with a breathing mask hanging around his neck.

“Who even put that there?” He grumbled, attempting to recover from the second doorway to face meeting as he ambled into the bio lab. 

Still wincing at the pain and just how bright the lights were to his na’vi eyes. Still deeply crouching more than half his body to make his way through the lab door.

He would have missed your laugh if not for the fact he was in his na'vi body. His heightened senses now aid him for the first time today, with his ears twitching towards the delightful sound you made. His tail swished behind him and he just hoped whoever it was didn't know what that meant. 

But he was in a na’vi focused science lab so he doubted it. But still, he had hope as he turned as if bracing for impact. 

He's just glad it isn't Grace. Her laugh didn't inspire butterflies.

But the face he was met with, your face, was kind. You were on a lab bench, stool poised between your legs as you looked through a microscope after meeting his stare. Lips quirked up in a soft meaningful smile. Your hair up and lab coat bright in the fluorescents. He noted the chewed-up pen cap beside your shaking hands as you readjusted the slide, clearly trying not to give in-to look at him and failing. 

He took a very deep breath through his nose, eyes closing. He smelled perfume, your signature scent he guessed as his mouth shamefully watered alongside the smell of fresh laundry and something decidedly human. 

Made sense for you- a lab tech or perhaps a scientist? As it was specifically the rubbing alcohol scent that clung to you. Was what marked you as what Neytiri called ‘ a sky demon’. It was strong but not putrid. 

Heat flooded his stomach at the full comforting scent of you. Tingles raced up his spine faster than he could even think. 

The urge to grab some part of you and rub it all over himself, cover himself in your scent was so strong he took an involuntary step towards you. He halted at the mental image of it, of dipping his cold nose along your neck, licking up the tendon there, nuzzling into your jaw, cradling your face. 

The blush that marred his face burned bright and he just knew the tips of his ears were traitorously turning purple, as the bioluminescent dots scattered along his body had the slightest glow. 

Still, he pushed down that quite insane urge and focused forward as he opened his eyes to see your focused stare once more. The beginning of a blush darkened the tips of your rounded ears as your eyes looked to his chest-his bare chest and the dots there, the flicking tail behind him and he stilled, tail twitching in tandem with his ears. Head tilted as if trying to take you in full.

He smirked.

You were pretty. Very very pretty. Much too pretty to be cooped up in here. If they gave you an avatar he hoped he never met you when driving his, knowing that would probably be enough to do him in.

You were gorgeous as a human, as a na’vi you would be devastating. He wondered what you would smell like as a na’vi, would it still be as intoxicating? Jake just couldn't imagine a way you could smell better than you do now.

“Was it you?” He called, gesturing back to the door, brows quirked up. You looked at him, a small laugh falling from your lips, head shaking as wisps of your hair fell to frame your lovely flushed face.

“No, I would never purposely disadvantage you.” You called. It was near a mumble as you tucked your chin in, trying to hide your face in your work again. But he wouldn't let you off that easily, not a chance in hell. He only chuckled, making his way to you but you stiffened. He stopped dead in his tracks, face falling.

“You’re not meant to talk to me.”

You frowned, looking down at your fidgeting hands. He only kneeled to better meet your eyes but that didn't help with you avoiding his figure and gaze entirely.

“Why not?”

“I don't know” you laughed, a harsh thing that sounded like it was stolen out of you. “ It's just a rule. Procedure.” He only laughed, tension falling from his shoulders as he rose, standing back up. 

That's all it was?

“Well, I've never cared much for rules, Doc.” A pause as he made sure your eyes met his “ And fuck procedure” 

A smile as bright as the dawn stole across your face and his heart painfully flipped. 

A mumbled “I know” was the last thing he heard you say before Grace flew in. 

Her avatar, much more graceful in this space, told from her lack of concussion that Jake was not entirely certain he was devoid of. 

You had to be a figment of his imagination.

“Stop flirting, we got work to do.” It was chastising surely, but her voice softened at the edges as she waved to you and you nodded, shuffling your files besides you, eager to get back to work and away from the beautiful alien. 

Grace dragged Jake away by his arm in your eyesight but then with nails piercing his sensitive ear as they rounded the corner away from your view.

She turned to look back around the corner, seeing you, her prodigy digging back into her files. Grace would simply not have Jake corrupting you. Would not see him distracting you.

“Ow ow ow, Jesus woman, calm down.” He yelped, his tail knocking over a stack of books perched on a desk as they went. Grace didn't stop or fumble a step, gracefully moving around falling textbooks and pamphlets.

He heard your laugh again, light airy and like wind chimes, melancholic and hopeful. 

Worth it, he thought as he was brought to the palace of needles and sterile equipment near Grace’s office.

It wasn't until the next day that he got another note. This one was obviously from Norm. Another detail in the painful prank.

It was placed in his workspace, he only noticed it after lights out, which subsequently was the prime time for him to roll out of bed when nightmares chased him out of sleep to finally do his daily video log. He scratched at his beard as he moved to press start when he caught it. The air went still and silent with his hand hovering over the recording button on his video log. A pale pastel green sticky note was on the left side of the monitor, bold black lines staring at him. 

“Love you in blue,

but being human suits you.”

*******

He had truly had enough. 

He turned around sharply, arms aching, almost knocking a scientist off her legs as he rolled past her, note clutched in his hand. He had found him exiting the dining hall, stolen muffins in his grasp. 

“Norm what the hell? Man cut the shit. Stop this bullshit.” He yelled, uncaring for the late hour or the echos in the dark hall. He had never seen the man look so confused and scared all at once. He looked dazed and overly tired, the eye bags were deep and a bruising purple. 

It looked like someone had rocked his shit, and if they didn't he might soon.

 Norm had been away in meetings all day. “I’m sorry, what?” he called, using one hand to rub at his tired eyes, the other holding the stolen contraband of after-hours caf food. 

But Jake just shoved said note into his chest hard enough that he heard Norm lose his breath as he moved back a step, muffin teetering almost out of his grip. 

Norm turned the green sticky note around, squirting at the smooth penmanship. Then shifted it to the fluorescent light and tensed. 

Jake was trained in tells and Norm was currently showing at least twenty. If he was in his na’vi body, his ears would be perked up, his tail would be curled in inquisitiveness.

“Explain.”

It was curt and Norm seemed to snap back to reality with it.

He knew who it was. Of course, he did. He knew before he even read the thing, knowing the exact shade of green you hoarded in sticky notes. The same ones you covet, only lending them to particularly well-done reports or a spare smiley face to cheer up a sad someone's bland desk. 

And if not that, then it was the penmanship he sees signing off the research proposals and his weekly reports. 

It was you. You were Jake Sully’s admirer. 

He tried not to laugh, really he did, but he did anyway. It was just all so ridiculous. Trudy told him you liked Jake a long time ago, but he almost didn't believe it. Even if he had, he never pictured you-the smart mouth but shy scientist under Grace Augustine’s wing to resort to cheesy love notes. 

He was a marine for gods sake! Bold of you to assume he could even read. 

But Jake didn't seem to find it as amusing. He honestly looked like he might shoot him. Might haul his six foot two self down to his height and beat his ass. 

With his heart racing he backed up a whole step, the green love note clasped in his hand. Jake's panicked eyes fell toward it. He didn't want to lose it. 

Interesting.

“I didn't write this.”

And Jake believed him.

“But I know who did.” Norm sighed. 

Not even a breath left him before Jake said, “Tell me.”

It was not an offer, not an ask, it was an order and a threat. And although Norm loved you dearly, he did not value you over his own life. 

He wondered who would kill him first once he was done spilling everything. You or Trudy?

He hoped for the latter. 

You would make it so much more painful, so much longer. You’re smart and devious enough for that. You would come up with something real creative too, curating a scientific breakthrough in torture in the process, further adding to your prodigy title. 

This was going to be one hell of a thing to explain and he had only some idea for where to start.  

“So, uhhh-have you heard of Grace Augustine’s prodigy?”

In order: Caroline, Peter, Jack, Dave, Harry, Roger, Jake, Steven.