#wohoooo

“Hey Norm… Did you ever get any news regarding med bay? After the battle?” 

He’d asked the avatar one day, after the dust settled following the Battle of the Hallelujah Mountains. 

Norm had just shrugged, straining to remember. 

“I think Max mentioned they had been hit pretty badly. Evac got messy.” 

He’d told himself you’d made it out.

You were smart, you wouldn’t have stayed. 

So why… 

Why were you with him? 

Had you gone back? 

Did the RDA invest in more Avatar programs? 

How was Quaritch even there? He’d seen his body. 

His hands stopped. 

He stared at the disassembled weapon like it belonged to someone else.

What came next?

“Ma’ Jake, you seem restless.” 

His jaw clenched. 

He didn’t respond. Instead racking his brain for the next step. 

Focus. 

Center.

Ground. 

He was stopped by a gentle hand resting on his shoulder, 

He feels tension slowly drain from his aching muscles. 

“The demons… you carry their shadow tonight.” 

He lets out a brave laugh, setting his gun down. 

“Yeah, I suppose seeing the man who tried to kill me—- the man you killed-- alive, might make me a little shaky.” 

The woman’s grip tightens on his shoulder. Her eyes were clear, focused. 

“I killed the demon once, I will kill the demon again.” 

He admired his mate’s resolve. He envied it even. 

But he knew it took more than resolve to put Quaritch in the ground. Even more so to keep him there. 

“They had our kids. He had them within reach— in his hands.” 

He knows Neytiri caught the tremble in his voice. The set of his jaw, the eyes that shone with ghosts of the past. 

“And they are safe now. We will keep it that way. We must hunt this demon down and kill him, the rest too.” 

Your name flashes behind his lids.

She notices the shift. 

A delicate hand traces the side of his face, moving to the side, leaning against him. 

“The woman demon. She did not kill you—-“ 

He knew what was coming. 

She was too smart to not notice. Nothing ever got past her. 

“She was a combat medic. From before—- I figured she evacuated, I don’t know why she came back.” 

At this, Neytiri scoffs. Clicking her tongue. 

“Greed. Those sky demons are sick with it.” 

He found himself doubting her reasoning.

That couldn’t be it. There had to be something else. There had to. 

You'd never been greedy.

He reaches for the gun, remembering the next step suddenly. 

“Next time—-“ 

Her voice cuts through him. 

“—I won’t miss.” 

His jaw set. It was a promise. 

——

The lighting in Quaritch’s office — if that’s what you called it — was harsh. Clinical . The kind meant to keep the senses on edge.

But your breathing remained steady, your features unfazed. 

Even if you felt your heart at your throat. Even if you could very clearly hear your heart hammering against your chest. 

He didn't need to know that.

“Hell of a shot you had there. Didn’t take it…” 

His amber gaze fixes on you— unblinking, unmoving.He demanded an answer. 

“Shot was compromised, it didn’t feel logical to shoot. You had indicated extraction, not execution.” 

You see one of his ears twitch. 

“Looked like you hesitated.” 

You tilted your chin up, head forward, held high. Your hands lay flat on your uniformed thighs, he wouldn’t see the shake of your fingers if they rested at your legs. You could still feel the curve of the trigger under your finger. 

His widened eyes flashed behind your eyes. 

“Is that your assessment, sir?” 

It came out tight. Snappier than intended. 

He grinned. 

“Sully looked like he’d seen a ghost.” 

Your tail twitched dangerously. 

You don’t react. 

“Were we on a mission, sir, or were we compiling material for your ghost stories, Colonel?” 

You mentally kick yourself. 

He shoots you a warning look, index finger tapping against the desk idly. He sits back in his chair, “careful, Doc. Someone less understanding would have you court marshaled on grounds of contempt.” His voice was even, almost easy going. 

You clench your jaw. 

Fucking smart mouth. Keep poking him, keep giving him more reasons, dipshit. 

“Lucky for you, this whole experience has been more than educational. We have confirmation, we have intel, we have leverage.” 

Also five body bags en route. 

Five empty seats in the hangar.

Silence hangs heavy. 

“Next time you have Sully in your sights, Doc— you take the shot.”

 It was an order. 

Your tail, stills. 

“Yes, sir.” 

—-

During dinner, you’re cramming a few files from the med bay, hoping for a distraction. Medicine made sense, it was where your mind came to rest. 

You finish your note on one of the files, holding a spoonful of… something, up to your mouth. 

Your ears twitch at the sound of a chair being pulled. 

Wainfleet. 

“Colonel’s in a mood today.” He declares, sitting back, shoving a mouthful of slop, almost eagerly. 

You don’t look up, “to my general knowledge— he’s always in a mood.” 

He chuckles, shaking his head, the lights reflecting on his forehead draw your attention. 

“Nah, this one’s special.” Another bite. 

“This is his white whale out there.” 

You don’t say anything. 

A pause. 

“Five down in one op though.” He sucks his teeth, focused on his meal, “it’s not a good look.” 

“Yeah.” 

“You really didn’t take the shot?” 

You shrug, crossing your arms, leaning back in your seat, “not a clean shot, and that wasn’t the mission. I’m a medic, not an executioner.” 

He stares at you for a second too long, as if he was about to say something.

 He shrugs. 

“Well thanks for not killing him. If you did, we’d be hearing all about unfinished business.” 

Your eyes flickered up to meet his. The corner of your lips curved ever so slightly. 

This had been your first real smile since waking up. 

You’d forgotten how nice it felt. 

It doesn’t last long, however. 

Your name is called out through the VA, ordering you to report to med bay, your tail twitches in annoyance. 

“Kids been a pain since last night.” Wainfleet mutters, you barely catch it. He looks up from his bowl, “some advice—“ 

“Those things broadcast.” He nods at your flickering tail. “The Colonel is old school, he watches.” 

Heat pools at the apple of your cheeks. 

“I’m working on it.” 

“Good, we’re short-staffed as is.”

With that, you get up and turn to leave, ears flattened to your skull. 

Wainfleet didn’t comment on them. 

—- 

“What the fuck did you do to him.” 

Your voice is tight, restrained. Anger bubbles deep within your chest. The small doctor lowers his head, almost ashamed. 

Almost. 

Your light flashes into the boy’s dark eyes, watching the pupil shrink, then expand when you pull the light away. 

“General Armore ordered it. It’s a neural stimulation protocol—-“

“I didn’t ask about protocol, Doctor.” You turn to him, arms crossed tightly over your chest.

He begins to scramble for words before you wave him off, “leave. I got it. I’m gonna make sure you didn’t turn his brain into aspic.” 

The doctor nods, briskly running out of the unit.

Being in the recon unit had its privileges. 

Rank helped.  Size helped more.

You pinch the bridge of your nose, letting out a long sigh, pressure formed behind your eyes.

Then you hear it, a groan. Shuffling. 

Your head snaps to the groaning boy, and your mind quiets. 

Medicine, healing. This is what you did. This is what you were good at.

He looks at you and growls, flashing his teeth at you. 

You don’t move. You keep the space between you. 

“I’m sorry about them. Some people seem to think you can take anything by force.” 

Information, resources… labor. 

“Yeah, no shit. They don’t understand I don’t know shit!” He slams his fist against the window. A little smile curls on your face, the restlessness, the stubbornness. 

“What are you smiling at?” 

He caught you staring, and soon your eyes flicker to meet his, you switch back into your role. 

“Sorry, you remind me of an old friend.” 

He growls. 

“I’m nothing like him.” Your head tilts to the side, “him? Oh..” 

Quaritch. His real dad. Technically. 

He was as related to him as you were related to yourself. Technicalities and genetics. 

Memories. 

“Quaritch isn’t my friend. He’s my commanding officer.” You respond in a matter of fact. 

Spider shrugs, pacing around the room, “you’re still his lackey. What do you want anyways?” 

You meet his shrug with one of your own, leaning against the wall. 

Your smirk falters. 

Healing was easier than choosing sides. 

“I’m a doctor, I came to check up on you, the others say you’re a difficult patient, but I can see why you're so over it, organization here sucks.” 

That earned a little laugh from him. 

Progress.

“Can I just give you a quick check up? If you let me make sure you’re not brain defective, everyone else will leave you alone, for today at least, I can promise you that.” 

He stands in the middle of the room, arms crossed tightly over his chest. 

“I just need to check your motor functions, make sure you didn’t get too banged up from contact. I’ll explain every step.” 

You see his shoulders relax, just a little. 

“No needles?” 

Now it was he who earned a little laugh from you. 

“Nah, that’s the nurse’s job.” 

His arms fall at his sides, a sigh falling from his lips. 

“Fine. But definitely no needles.”

—- 

“You’re perfectly fine, just let me change your arm dressings, and then you’re free for the night.” You notice how his lips twitch at the word “free”. 

Your chest tightened. 

Once the bandages were changed,  you tug at the knot once, test it. You tug it again.

Satisfied, you smooth it flat with your thumb.

“Why’d you do that?” 

You don’t look up, instead focused on cutting the excess gauze away. 

“That thing. The double pull. It's familiar.” 

You answer without thinking, tugging the sterile gloves off, “someone had to teach him—“ 

You throw the gloves to the assigned bin. 

Then freeze. 

For the second time today, you wanted to kick yourself. 

He goes still.

“… You knew him before.” 

You stand, moving to put things away, leaving the boy sitting. You could feel his eyes on you. 

“I knew him when he still wore boots.” You don’t look back. You keep your voice even. Steady. 

You pretend you don’t hear him saying he’ll be fine. 

“He doesn’t like to talk about before.” 

His voice snaps you away from your thoughts, a bitter smile setting on your face. You make sure to clear it before you turn around, “most people don’t. Sometimes the past is only buried because we bury it ourselves.” 

Or because we forget about it. 

“You’re okay, I’m going to have someone send you some food, try to eat. I know you don’t care what some random doctor tells you, but if you don’t eat, they’ll make me shove a tube down your nose and into your stomach. I’m sure that’s something you wanna avoid as much as I do.” 

He lets out a defeated growl, kicking at his bed. 

You turn to the door, grabbing his file. 

You sign your name on the work order. Rest. No neuronal stimulants for at least 48 hrs. 

You knew they’d do as they pleased, but at least you’d tried. 

“Get some rest, Kid.” 

The door opens in front of you, and you look back curiously, you hadn't scanned your ID yet. 

Amber eyes stare down at you. 

Then past you—- to the boy. 

Then to you again.

“Hey Doc, mind giving me a moment with my kid?” 

You clear your throat and nod, walking past him. 

“Thanks, lady.”