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⟡ more to come...

©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)

credits to the gif owner

The lush canopy of Pandora filtered the sunlight into a mosaic of greens and golds, casting dappled patterns across the forest floor as Neytiri moved with the fluid grace of a born hunter. Her lithe blue body, striped with faint bioluminescent markings, cut through the undergrowth like a shadow given form.

She was teaching Jake Sully, the skxawng from the sky people, the sacred ways of the Na'vi. The subtle art of listening to the wind's whispers, the precise grip on a bowstring, the harmony of breath with the world's pulse.

Jake followed her every motion, his own newly transferred Na'vi form still adjusting to its powerful limbs and heightened senses. His broad shoulders flexed under the minimal covering of his loincloth, muscles rippling as he mimicked her stance, tail flicking with concentration.

To him, Neytiri was a revelation.

A fierce, untamed beauty that outshone the sterile lights of his human past. Her sharp golden eyes, framed by the elegant lines of her face, held a fire that both intimidated and captivated him, her long black hair swayed with each step, brushing against the curve of her hips, and her voice, when she spoke, carried the melody of Eywa herself.

"This is how you become one with the forest." Neytiri instructed, her tone firm yet laced with an undercurrent of warmth, demonstrating how to nock an arrow with effortless precision.

She straightened, her chest rising and falling steadily, the beaded strands of her top shifting slightly over her toned form.

Jake nodded, wiping sweat from his brow, his golden eyes tracing the elegant arch of her neck, the way her ears twitched at distant sounds.

She was beautiful.

He thought.

Wild and pure, a woman who could command the stars.

They paused near a cluster of glowing ferns, the air humming with the soft calls of unseen creatures. Neytiri turned to him, her expression softening just a fraction, though her tail curled tightly behind her in subtle tension.

"When you are one of the People, Jake." She said, her voice dropping to a more intimate timbre, golden eyes meeting his with a flicker of hope she tried to conceal. "You may choose a mate. There are many worthy females in the Omatikaya, strong weavers like the daughters of the elders, or skilled hunters who ride the ikran with the wind. There are also performers, Ninat is the best singer in the clan."

Her words echoed the clan's traditions, but beneath them lay her quiet yearning. She imagined his choice falling to her, despite the looming bond with Tsu'tey that duty and the loss of her older sister demanded.

Jake's lips curved into a lopsided grin, his broad chest expanding as he stepped closer, the scent of earth and exertion clinging to his blue skin.

"Well I don't want Ninat. I don't want any of them." He replied, voice rough with sincerity, golden eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that made the space between them feel charged. He leaned in, heart pounding against his ribs, the words bubbling up from deep within. "Neytiri, I—"

A sudden rustle shattered the moment, leaves parting as you stumbled into the clearing, your arms cradling a bundle of fresh atokirina, seeds of the sacred tree, that you'd been sent to collect for the clan's rituals. Your heart skipped as your sparkling golden eyes widened, taking in the scene.

Your sister Neytiri, poised and alert, and the stranger beside her, the dreamwalker she'd spoken of in hushed tones during late-night talks by the fire. You'd never crossed paths with him before, too occupied with your duties among the healers and young ones, but now, here he was. Tall and handsome, his muscular frame etched with the raw power of a warrior in bloom, golden eyes sharp and curious, his long black hair tied back to reveal the strong lines of his jaw and the subtle scars from his sky people life.

A flush crept across your azure skin, your ears perking forward in surprise while your tail swished in a quick, involuntary arc of curiosity.

In that instant, Jake's confession evaporated, his gaze snapping to you like a predator scenting prey.

Awe slackened his features, jaw parting slightly, golden eyes dilating as they roamed over you, drinking in every detail. Neytiri, with her commanding presence, blurred into the background and all that existed was you. Your feminine form was a vision of Omatikaya allure, sweeter and more inviting than any he'd imagined.

The pretty beaded top clung to your full, ample breasts, the strands hugging their generous swell so tightly that the deep blue of your nipples peeked teasingly at the edges, barely concealed by the delicate weave. They were larger than those of the other females he'd glimpsed, plump and perky, rising with each quickened breath you took. Your waist, slender and cinched with a shimmering wrap of beads that tinkled softly, flared into hips draped by a loincloth in a stunning gradient of plum fading to indigo, the fabric swaying to hint at the perky curve of your ass beneath. Long black hair cascaded down your back, the silky strands reaching just above that enticing swell, framing your body like a living tapestry.

And your face, gods, Eywa must have crafted it with extra care. Sparkling golden eyes that shimmered like the Tree of Souls, full pouty blue lips parted in mild shock, high cheekbones glowing with a natural luminescence.

Your tail flicked cutely behind you, ears twitching as you realized the intrusion, a soft warmth blooming on your cheeks.

He was even more striking up close than Neytiri's stories had suggested, those golden eyes holding a depth that made your stomach flutter, his broad shoulders and confident stance stirring something unfamiliar in your caring heart.

"Neytiri! Oh, I'm so sorry." You exclaimed, your voice sweet and melodic, laced with genuine apology as you tugged the bundle closer to you hastily, golden eyes darting between your sister and the dreamwalker. A shy smile tugged at your pouty lips, but embarrassment won out. "I didn't mean to disrupt your lesson. I'll leave you both—"

With a quick dip of your head, your long hair swinging forward to brush your breasts, you turned and darted back into the foliage, your perky ass flexing under the gradient loincloth with each light-footed step, tail curling bashfully as you vanished.

Jake remained rooted, still in a trance, his golden eyes fixed on the spot where you'd disappeared, chest heaving as if he'd run a hunt. The forest's symphony faded around him, all he could replay was the sparkle in your eyes, the sway of your hips, the way your full tits had strained against those beads.

"Who... who was that?" He asked finally, voice husky and dazed, turning to Neytiri with a mix of wonder and resolve.

Neytiri's ears flattened slightly, her golden eyes narrowing in quiet surprise as she watched her sister's retreating form. She straightened, tail lashing once in restrained emotion.

"That was my younger sister, (Y/N)." She replied evenly, though a thread of protectiveness wove through her tone. "The prettiest and most sought-after female in the Omatikaya clan. She is feminine, sweet, always caring for the young and the wounded. Many warriors vie for her attention, but she chooses none yet."

Her words carried a subtle pride, but beneath it, a flicker of unease stirred, your beauty had turned heads since you were old enough to weave your first top.

Jake's grin returned, slow and determined, his golden eyes gleaming with newfound purpose. He nodded, absently flexing his hands as if already imagining them on you.

"I know now who I want to be mates with." He said firmly, voice thick with conviction, glancing back toward the underbrush as if you might reappear.

Neytiri's breath caught, her chest tightening with a sharp pang of hurt that she masked behind a stoic nod. Her tail drooped for a heartbeat, golden eyes dimming as the hope she'd harbored cracked like dry earth.

"As Eywa wills." She murmured softly, turning away to resume the lesson, but the air between them had shifted, heavy with unspoken loss.

Meanwhile, you hurried through the winding paths back toward the heart of the village, your heart racing not just from the sprint but from the image burned into your mind. Those piercing golden eyes, the handsome tilt of his head, the way his muscular body moved with an outsider's raw energy. You'd heard Neytiri speak of Jake Sully, the dreamwalker she was guiding, the one who carried stories of the sky people in his strange ways. But seeing him... he was unlike any Na'vi warrior, his presence both foreign and magnetic, stirring a warmth low in your belly that made your cheeks flush a deeper blue.

You paused by a trickling stream, sinking onto a mossy rock, your gradient loincloth pooling around your thighs as you hugged your knees to your full chest. The beaded top shifted, beads cool against your skin, but your thoughts were far from the gentle flow of water.

He was handsome, you admitted to yourself, a shy giggle escaping your pouty lips as you recalled the spark in his gaze when it met yours. Your tail swished idly, ears perking at the memory of him, a crush bloomed unbidden in your sweet heart, feminine instincts drawing you to his strength, imagining his large hands brushing yours during a shared hunt or his laughter mingling with the clan's songs.

But the giggle faded, replaced by a soft ache in your chest. Neytiri had confided in you just the night before, her voice excited yet conflicted as she braided your long black hair by the firelight.

"He is learning quickly, tsmuke." She'd said, golden eyes distant. "I will take him to the Tree of Voices soon to show him Eywa's heart. Perhaps... he will see me as more."

You'd nodded then, your caring nature urging support for your sister's rare vulnerability, even as she mentioned her duty to Tsu'tey.

"I like him." She'd admitted with a wistful smile. "Even if my path is set with another."

Stumbling upon them like that, you'd thought it had happened already, the hint turned to truth in that secluded glade.

Were they speaking of mates? Had your interruption stolen her moment?

Sadness tugged at you, golden eyes misting as you traced the beads at your waist, the weight of your chest rising with a sigh. You wanted joy for Neytiri, your fierce protector, but the dreamwalker's face lingered, handsome and unknowable, making your heart twist with forbidden longing.

How could you crush on him when he was meant for her?

The forest seemed to echo your turmoil, leaves rustling as if Eywa herself pondered the threads of fate.

~

The sun climbed higher over the Omatikaya hometree, its rays piercing the canopy to bathe the village in a warm, ethereal glow. Jake moved through the bustling clan with purpose, his powerful Na'vi legs carrying him swiftly past woven huts and chattering families. His golden eyes scanned the crowds, heart thumping with a mix of nerves and excitement he'd rarely felt since arriving on Pandora.

Neytiri's lessons had continued that morning, but his mind had wandered relentlessly to you. Your sparkling eyes, the generous curve of your breasts straining against those beads, the sway of your hips as you fled. He couldn't shake the image, it haunted him like a siren's call. Neytiri had noticed his distraction, her responses clipped, but he barely registered it. All he knew was he had to find you, introduce himself properly, and start weaving his way into your world.

You were near the healer's grove, kneeling by a cluster of luminous herbs, your long black hair draped over one shoulder as you carefully plucked leaves for poultices. The gradient plum and indigo loincloth hugged your thighs, the beaded waist wrap glinting in the light, while your top cradled your full breasts with gentle insistence, the blue peaks of your nipples just hidden beneath the strands. Your tail curled contentedly around your ankle, ears perked to the soft hum of the forest.

Thoughts of the dreamwalker, Jake Sully, still fluttered in your mind from yesterday, a secret warmth that made you smile shyly to yourself. But you pushed it down, Neytiri deserved her happiness.

A shadow fell over you, and you looked up, golden eyes widening as you saw him standing there, tall and imposing, his muscular chest bare, loincloth low on his hips accentuating the V of his abdomen. His black hair was loose today, framing his handsome face, those golden eyes locked on you with an intensity that sent a shiver down your spine.

"Hello." Jake said, his voice deep and warm, a grin spreading across his lips as he crouched down to your level, tail flicking with eager energy.

Up close, you could see the faint scars on his blue skin, remnants of his sky people life, and it only made him more intriguing, exotic and strong. Your heart raced, a flush creeping up your neck. He was even more handsome in the daylight, his broad shoulders flexing as he balanced on his haunches.

"Jake Sully." You breathed, standing quickly and brushing dirt from your hands, your perky ass shifting under the loincloth. A polite smile curved your pouty blue lips, though your ears twitched nervously. Remembering yesterday's interruption, you assumed the best for your sister. "Congratulations on your mating with Neytiri. I'm so happy for you both, tsaheylu is a sacred bond. She spoke so highly of you."

Your voice was sweet, laced with genuine warmth, golden eyes shining as you clasped your hands in front of your ample chest.

Jake's grin faltered, his golden eyes widening in confusion, a jolt of panic surging through him like a hexapede bolt.

Mated? With Neytiri? No, that couldn't be how you saw him, not when he'd barely slept, replaying your face, dreaming of your touch.

His tail lashed once, ears flattening as his mind raced. He didn't want you thinking he was tied to another, especially not your own sister, before he could even whisper his intentions.

"Wait, what? No, that's... that's not—" He rubbed the back of his neck, muscles bunching under his skin, voice dropping to a hurried rumble. "Neytiri's beautiful, yeah, fierce and all that. She taught me everything, showed me the way. But she's not the one I want to be with. Not like that."

Heat flooded your cheeks, turning them a pretty purple hue as embarrassment washed over you. Your golden eyes darted to the ground, tail curling tightly between your legs, while your ears pinned back. Oh, Eywa, you'd assumed wrong, jumped to conclusions like a foolish youngling.

"I... I thought, after yesterday... I'm sorry, I shouldn't have—" You stammered, your full breasts rising with a quick breath, the beads tinkling softly.

Jake's panic eased, replaced by a soft chuckle that rumbled from his chest, his gaze softening as he watched the color bloom on your face. It was adorable, that flush making your azure skin glow, your pouty lips parting in shy distress. He reached out instinctively, his large hand brushing your arm lightly, calluses rough against your smooth skin.

"Hey, no, don't apologize. It's cute, actually. That purple? Suits you." His voice turned teasing, golden eyes sparkling with affection, already drawn to your sweetness like a moth to bioluminescent light.

You peeked up at him through your lashes, the touch sending a spark through you, your tail uncurling slightly.

"Cute?" You echoed, a small giggle escaping despite yourself, the sound light and melodic.

"Yeah." He said, standing and offering his hand, his fingers engulfing yours when you took it, pulling you gently to your feet. The contact lingered a beat too long, his thumb tracing your knuckles. "Look, I just wanted to introduce myself properly. I'm Jake. And I'd like to spend some time with you, if that's okay. Show me around? Or... whatever you do when you're not collecting herbs."

He was smitten already, his body leaning toward you, tail brushing yours accidentally or not as if magnetized. Your heart fluttered, the doubt about Neytiri fading under his earnest gaze.

"I'd like that." You replied softly, squeezing his hand before letting go, though the warmth remained.

Together, you wandered the grove, the air filled with the scent of blooming vines. Jake asked questions about the herbs, his voice animated, golden eyes never leaving your face as you explained their uses, how the glowing petals soothed wounds, the roots eased fever. You demonstrated, crushing a leaf between your fingers, the juice staining your blue skin, and he leaned in close, inhaling the aroma, his breath warm on your shoulder.

"That's incredible." He murmured, his hand grazing your waist as he steadied himself, the touch electric.

You laughed, a fluffy moment as you swatted his arm playfully, calling him skxawng for his wide-eyed wonder, and he feigned offense, pulling you into a mock chase through the ferns. Laughter echoed, his clinginess showing in how he stayed near, brushing leaves from your hair, his fingers lingering on the strands that fell just above your perky ass.

By the time the sun dipped lower, you both sat by a stream, sharing stories, his of the sky people's machines, yours of clan hunts. His golden eyes drank you in, smitten beyond words, already plotting how to see you again.

The next day dawned brighter, and you found yourself primping more than usual, a secret thrill bubbling in your chest.

You'd woven extra beads into your long black hair, the tiny stones catching the light like stars, cascading down to frame your curves. Your top was a new adornment, bejeweled with iridescent petals that hugged your huge tits even tighter, the strands parting slightly to tease the deep blue of your nipples with every movement. The gradient loincloth swayed as you walked to the meeting spot, a sun-dappled clearing near the hometree, your waist beads tinkling, perky ass flexing with each step. You wanted to look pretty for him, though you blushed at the thought, tail swishing in anticipation.

Jake arrived, his loincloth slung low, revealing the powerful lines of his thighs, but the moment he saw you, he froze.

Awe slackened his jaw, golden eyes raking over you, from the beaded cascade in your hair, to the way the top accentuated your plump breasts, rising enticingly, down to the curve of your hips. His cock twitched beneath his loincloth, hardening instantly at the sight, a rush of heat flooding him. You were a vision, more stunning than yesterday, and he had to shift his stance to hide the growing bulge, tail curling tightly.

"You... you look amazing." He breathed, stepping closer, voice husky with desire.

His hands found your arms, sliding up to your shoulders, thumbs brushing the base of your neck where your pulse raced. A giggle bubbled from your pouty lips, purple flushing your cheeks again as you ducked your head, ears twitching forward.

"Thank you." You whispered, golden eyes sparkling up at him, the affection in his touch making you bold.

You leaned into him, your full breasts pressing softly against his chest, hand resting on his abdomen, feeling the hard muscle tense under your palm. He was on cloud nine, a low groan escaping as your body met his, the scent of your skin, earthy and sweet, filling his senses.

"Couldn't stop thinking about you." He admitted, one hand drifting to your waist, fingers splaying over the beads, pulling you flush.

You giggled again, blush deepening, but reciprocated, your tail entwining with his in a subtle caress, your free hand tracing his jaw.

The air thickened with tension as you explored the forest together, his touches more insistent, a hand on the small of your back guiding you over roots, fingers interlacing as you pointed out hidden glow-worms. Soft touches turned heated, he pulled you down to sit on a fallen log, his thigh pressing against yours, arm draped possessively over your shoulders.

You nestled closer, affectionate nuzzles against his neck, your soft curves molding to his side, eliciting contented rumbles from him. Inevitably, your faces drew near, breaths mingling. Jake cupped your cheek, golden eyes dark with want.

"Can I...?" He murmured, and you nodded, heart pounding.

His lips met yours, soft at first, exploratory, then deepening as your pouty blue lips parted in a sweet mewl, tasting of wild berries and innocence. He groaned into the kiss, addicted instantly, tongue sweeping in to claim, hands roaming to your hips, pulling you onto his lap where his hard cock pressed insistently against your core through the thin fabrics. Your full tits crushed against him, nipples hardening under the top, and you mewled again, fingers tangling in his hair.

He broke away gasping, forehead against yours, cock throbbing painfully. Gods, he wanted to bond right there, strip you bare, sink into your warmth, make tsaheylu under the stars. But no, he had to honor the ways.

"I like you." He confessed, voice rough with emotion, golden eyes boring into yours. "A lot. From the second I saw you, it hit me."

You searched his face, doubt flickering despite the bliss.

"Are you sure?" You asked softly, golden eyes vulnerable, hand on his chest. "Neytiri... you were with her the other day. I thought—"

As if reading your mind, Jake shook his head, hands framing your face tenderly.

"Yeah, I found Neytiri beautiful and strong, yeah. But when I saw you? It's like every other woman just... ceased to exist. Your eyes, your smile, the way you move, it's all I see now. Everything clicked into place, crystal clear. You're the one, the only one I want. My heart knew it before my head did." His words were mushy, earnest, spilling from a man unused to poetry but driven by raw truth, tail squeezing yours reassuringly.

Your heart swelled, happiness blooming like a nightflower, golden eyes misting as you smiled, pouty lips brushing his again.

"I feel it too." You whispered, the sadness over Neytiri easing in the face of his sincerity.

"Then... can I court you?" He asked, voice hopeful, thumb tracing your lower lip.

"Yes." You breathed, sealing it with another kiss, the forest witnessing the spark of something eternal.

The days following your first kiss blurred into a whirlwind of warmth and anticipation, the forest itself seeming to hum with the promise of what was unfolding between you and Jake. You felt it in every glance, every brush of his tail against yours, the electric pull that had drawn him to you from the start.

As the sun rose on the third day of his official courtship, you found yourself near the communal fire pit, helping prepare the evening meal, your long black hair tied back with fresh vines, the beaded top clinging to your ample breasts, the gradient loincloth swaying with your movements. Your golden eyes sparkled with a secret joy, ears perking at the distant calls of the horn announcing the arrival of those who hunted.

Jake emerged from the hunt, his broad shoulders glistening with sweat under the dappled light, a fresh kill slung over one powerful arm, a hexapede, its flanks still warm. His loincloth rode low on his hips, accentuating the defined ridges of his abdomen, and his golden eyes locked onto you immediately, a grin splitting his handsome face. He moved with purpose, weaving through the clan members who paused to watch, their murmurs rippling like leaves in the wind.

Everyone knew now. Jake had made it unmistakable. His hand would find the small of your back as you walked, fingers tracing lazy circles on your azure skin, or he'd trail behind you like a shadow, his presence a constant, comforting weight. Whispers followed you both, envy in the warriors' eyes for the exotic dreamwalker who had captured the clan's most sought-after beauty, and in the women's gazes, a longing for the way Jake's attention never wavered from you.

He approached the fire pit, dropping the hexapede with a thud and kneeling beside you, his muscular thighs flexing as he began to prepare the meat.

"For you." He said, voice low and rough with pride, golden eyes gleaming as he sliced into the richest cut, the tender loin, marbled with fat that would sear to perfection.

The scent of blood and earth filled the air, mingling with the smoke from the flames. You watched, mesmerized by the flex of his biceps, the way his black hair fell across his forehead, damp with exertion. Your heart fluttered, a soft blush tinting your cheeks that purple hue he adored.

"Jake, you didn't have to—" You started, but he shook his head, skewering the meat and holding it over the fire, the flames licking at it until juices dripped, sizzling.

"But I want to." He replied, his tone earnest, tail curling toward yours in a subtle claim. Once cooked to a golden char, he cut a piece and offered it to you on the tip of his knife, his free hand cupping your chin gently, thumb brushing your pouty blue lips. "Open up, ma'yawntutsyìp."

The endearment rolled off his tongue with growing ease, learned from Neytiri's lessons but now laced with his own affection.

You parted your lips, golden eyes locking with his as you took the bite, the savory flavor exploding on your tongue, smoky and rich, the best part of the kill, reserved for the one he wished to provide for. A dribble of sauce escaped, trailing down your chin, and before you could wipe it, Jake's thumb swiped it away, his touch lingering, tracing the curve of your jaw.

"There." He murmured, voice husky. "Can't have you messy. Eat plenty, you need your strength."

He fed you another piece, his body leaning closer, the heat from his chest radiating against your side, making your full breasts rise with a quickened breath. You chewed slowly, savoring not just the meat but the intimacy of the moment, your tail entwining with his fully now.

"You're a good hunter now." You praised, voice soft and genuine, golden eyes shining as you swallowed. "The tastiest I've had in moons. Eywa must favor you."

Jake chuckled, a deep rumble that vibrated through you, his hand moving to your waist, fingers splaying over the beaded wrap.

"All for you." He said, feeding you more, watching your lips wrap around the morsel with a hunger that went beyond the food. A bit of sauce clung to the corner of your mouth again, and he leaned in, wiping it with his thumb before sucking it clean himself, golden eyes darkening. "Gotta make sure you're full. I want to feel that tummy bloated, know I took care of you right."

Heat flooded your face, purple blooming across your cheeks as you swatted his arm playfully, the beads on your top tinkling with the motion, your perky ass shifting as you laughed.

"Skxawng!" You exclaimed, giggling, ears twitching forward in delight. "You're impossible."

But your hand lingered on his bicep, feeling the hard muscle, and you let him feed you another bite, the flirtation sending sparks through your core.

From the edge of the gathering, Neytiri watched, her lithe form perched on a root, bow across her lap. Her golden eyes softened, a mix of resignation and quiet joy as she took in the scene.

Jake's undivided attention on you, the way your laughter lit up like bioluminescent vines, your bodies angled toward each other as if the rest of the world had faded. You looked good together, his taller, broader frame complementing your curvaceous one, the dreamwalker's exotic markings blending with your clan's patterns. She saw the jealousy in the other women's stares, the envious glances from the men who had once vied for your hand. Her own heart ached a little, but seeing your happiness, the flush on your skin, the sparkle in your eyes eased it.

Jake was smitten, utterly lost in you, and you in him.

As the meal wound down, Jake stood, pulling you up with him, his hand engulfing yours.

"Come with me." He said, voice laced with excitement, leading you away from the fire toward a secluded glade where the undergrowth parted like a secret path.

The clan watched, murmurs of approval and envy trailing you, everyone knew he was courting you, his touchy nature broadcasting it louder than any announcement. His arm draped over your shoulders, fingers idly stroking the top of your arm, thumb circling the soft skin there.

In the glade, bathed in the soft glow of floating pollen, he knelt again, producing a bundle of flowers he'd tucked into his waist, vibrant helicorals in shades of deepest indigo and shimmering violet, their petals unfurling like your loincloth's gradient, edged with glowing veins that pulsed like heartbeats.

"These reminded me of you." He said, holding them out, golden eyes vulnerable yet intense, tail flicking with nervous energy. "Prettiest things in the forest."

Your breath caught, golden eyes widening as you took them, the delicate blooms cool against your palms. A giggle escaped, bubbly and light, as purple flushed your cheeks once more, ears pinning back shyly.

"Jake... they're beautiful." You whispered, burying your face in them briefly, inhaling their sweet, nectar-like scent. You looked up, pouty lips curving into a beaming smile, your full breasts heaving with the emotion swelling in your chest. "No one's ever... thank you."

Leaning in, you nuzzled his cheek, your body pressing close, the flowers crushed slightly between you. He wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you flush against him, his hardening length pressing subtly against your thigh through the thin fabric, a reaction he didn't hide, his voice dropping to a growl.

"You deserve it all." He murmured, nuzzling back, lips brushing your ear.

The courtship deepened over the following days, Jake's determination shining in every gesture. He trailed you to the weaving circles, his large hand resting possessively on your hip as you worked bioluminescent threads, or joined you in the river, splashing water playfully until you were both soaked, your beaded top translucent against your hardened nipples, his laughter echoing as he pulled you into his lap on the bank.

The clan buzzed with it, warriors nodding respectfully to him, women sighing enviously at how he anticipated your every need, from braiding a loose strand of your hair to sharing his water gourd, lips lingering on the rim where yours had been.

One evening, as the stars began to prick the sky, Jake sought out your mother, Mo'ak, the tsahik, in her healer's hut adorned with glowing fungi and sacred relics. You waited outside, heart pounding, your tail swishing anxiously, golden eyes fixed on the woven entrance. Neytiri stood nearby, her posture straight but her expression unreadable, arms crossed over her chest.

Inside, Jake knelt before Mo'ak, his voice steady despite the gravity.

"Tsahik, I come to ask for your blessing to court your daughter properly." He said, golden eyes meeting her wise, piercing gaze. "(Y/N). She's everything to me. I want to provide, protect, be worthy."

Mo'ak regarded him, her long braids swaying as she tilted her head, the air thick with incense.

"You are sky person turned Na'vi, Jake Sully." She replied, voice resonant and measured. "But to bond with one of the people, you must become one fully. Pass the Iknimaya, the rite of passage. Tame your ikran, choose your banshee. Prove Eywa sees you as Omatikaya. Then, and only then, will I give my blessing."

Jake's jaw set, determination hardening his features, muscles tensing under his skin.

"I will." He vowed, voice fierce. "For her."

Emerging from the hut, he found you, pulling you into a tight embrace, his lips pressing to your forehead.

"She wants me to pass Iknimaya." He explained, hands roaming your back soothingly. "I'll do it. No doubt."

Neytiri approached then, her golden eyes meeting yours first, a soft smile breaking through.

"I see how he looks at you, tsmuke." She said, voice gentle, ears relaxing. "The way you light up. It... it hurts a little, but Eywa has her path."

She turned to Jake, placing a hand on his shoulder, her touch sisterly now. "You have my blessing, skxawng. Court her well. And pass the rite, she deserves a true warrior."

With that, she stepped back, giving you both space, her own heart finding peace in your joy.

You beamed at Jake, golden eyes misty, pulling him down for a kiss that lingered, your bodies entwining under the emerging stars. The path ahead was clear, his determination fueling yours, the clan's envy fading into quiet acceptance as your bond grew stronger, root by root.

~

The sun hung low in the Pandora sky, casting a golden haze over the floating mountains as the Omatikaya clan gathered at the edge of the Hallelujah Mountains.

Your heart pounded in your chest, a wild rhythm that matched the distant cries of ikran echoing through the mist-shrouded cliffs. You stood among your people, your turquoise-tinged blue skin shimmering under the light, the beaded top straining against your full, heaving breasts with every anxious breath. Your long black hair cascaded down your back, brushing the curve of your perky ass beneath the gradient plum and indigo loincloth that swayed gently in the breeze. Golden eyes wide and glistening with unshed tears, your ears twitched forward, tail lashing with barely contained excitement.

Neytiri stood beside you, her hand squeezing your shoulder in silent support, while the rest of the clan, warriors, hunters, and elders watched with bated breath.

High above, Jake soared on his newly tamed ikran, Bob.

The great winged creature screeching triumphantly as it banked through the twisting spires of rock. His blue form was a blur of muscle and determination, loincloth whipping in the wind, broad shoulders flexing as he guided the banshee with expert precision.

He'd trained relentlessly for this, the Iknimaya, the rite that would make him truly one of the people. Every dawn, he'd risen before the light, practicing with the clan's hunters, his golden eyes fierce with resolve.

All for you.

To prove he was worthy, to bind his life to yours under Eywa's gaze. You remembered the nights he'd spent whispering promises in your ear, his large hands roaming your body, tasting your skin as if committing it to memory.

"I'll do it." He'd whispered against your neck, voice thick with need. "For us."

Now, as his ikran dove toward the gathered crowd, landing with a powerful flap of wings that stirred the air, Jake dismounted in one fluid leap. His chest rose and fell heavily, sweat tracing rivulets down his chiseled abs, pooling at the low-slung waist of his loincloth. The queue of his braid dangled freely, ready for the final bond.

Your mother, Mo'at, stepped forward, her voice booming with approval.

"You have passed, Jake Sully. Eywa sees you. You are Omatikaya."

The clan erupted in cheers, bioluminescent markings glowing brighter in the fading light.

Jake's eyes found yours immediately, locking with an intensity that made your knees weaken. He strode through the throng, ignoring the slaps on his back, until he reached you. His hands cupped your face, thumbs brushing away the tears that finally spilled over your cheeks, warm and salty.

"I did it." He murmured, voice rough with emotion, forehead pressing to yours. "For you, ma'yawntutsyìp. I'm one of you now. Yours."

You sobbed softly, joy bubbling up from your core, your hands clutching his wrists as if to anchor yourself. Your full breasts pressed against his chest, nipples hardening through the thin beads at the contact, a flush of purple blooming across your skin.

"You worked so hard." You whispered, golden eyes shining up at him, pouty blue lips trembling. "I knew you could. Eywa chose you for me."

Your tail wrapped around his leg instinctively, pulling him closer, the world narrowing to just the two of you amid the celebration.

Neytiri's gaze softened from nearby, a small smile curving her lips as she watched the depth of your bond. The envy from the clan had long faded into acceptance. Jake's devotion was as clear as the stars emerging overhead.

Mo'ak approached then, her wise eyes appraising Jake with final approval. "You have proven yourself, warrior. My blessing is yours. Take her as mate. Honor our ways and my youngest daughter."

You beamed at your mother as she only chuckles softly as the expression on your face, Jake was relieved as it was a big thing for him to earn blessings from the important people in your life.

That night, under the veil of stars, you and Jake slipped away from the festivities, hands intertwined, leading each other to the Tree of Voices. The sacred grove shimmered with ethereal light, tendrils of the great tree swaying like living prayers, the air thick with the hum of Eywa's presence. Pollen danced in soft glows around you, illuminating your path as you stepped into the heart of it, the ground soft with moss beneath your bare feet. Your heart raced, a mix of nerves and overwhelming love swelling in your chest.

This was it, the moment you'd dreamed of since that first stolen glance.

Jake turned to you, his golden eyes reflecting the bioluminescence, filled with a reverence that made your breath hitch. His muscular torso on full display, the scars from his human life now badges of his Na'vi journey. His loincloth hung loose, hinting at the thick bulge already straining against it, aroused by the anticipation alone.

"You're everything." He said, voice low and fervent, stepping closer until his body heat enveloped you. His hands traced your arms, up to your shoulders, fingers tangling in your long hair. "I love you so much it aches."

You gazed up at him, golden eyes misty, your body responding to his nearness, pussy clenching with need, a slick warmth gathering between your thighs.

"I see you too, Jake." You breathed, ears pinning back shyly as your tail flicked against his. "Make me yours. Forever."

With trembling hands, you both reached for your queues, the sensitive neural tendrils uncoiling like living vines. Jake's breath ghosted over your face as he brought his closer, the tips brushing, sending electric sparks through your bodies.

"Tsaheylu." He whispered, the word a sacred vow.

The tendrils connected with a soft, intimate click, and the world exploded into shared sensation, his heartbeat thundering in your chest, your emotions flooding his mind. Pleasure, love, desire, it all intertwined binding your souls as mates.

The bond deepened everything.

The scent of his skin, musky and wild, filled your senses; the taste of his lips as he crashed them against yours, messy and desperate, tongues tangling in a wet, hungry kiss. You moaned into his mouth, the sound vibrating through the tsaheylu, making him groan in response. His hands roamed greedily, cupping your large breasts through the beaded top, thumbs circling your hardened nipples until they poked visibly against the fabric.

"Fuck, you're perfect." He growled against your lips, breaking the kiss to nip at your jaw, inhaling deeply at your neck.

Your scent, sweet like nectar and earth, drove him wild, his cock twitching hard against your thigh. You arched into him, hands exploring the hard planes of his back, nails digging into his blue skin as the bond amplified every touch.

"Jake... please." You whimpered, golden eyes half-lidded with lust, purple flush spreading down your chest.

He knelt slowly, reverent, his large hands sliding down your sides, hooking into your loincloth and tugging it free. It pooled at your feet, exposing your glistening pussy, folds swollen and wet, clit peeking out begging for attention. He stared, awe-struck, golden eyes darkening with obsession.

"So beautiful." He murmured, leaning in to nuzzle your inner thigh, nose brushing your slick skin, inhaling your arousal like a drug. "Your scent... it's intoxicating. I need to taste you."

His tongue darted out, flat and broad, licking a slow stripe from your entrance to your clit, savoring the tangy sweetness that coated his lips. You gasped, legs trembling, one hand fisting his hair as pleasure shot through the bond, his own arousal spiking, cock leaking pre-cum against his loincloth. He worshiped you with his mouth, lips sucking gently on your clit, tongue delving inside to lap at your walls, humming vibrations against you.

"Taste so good, ma yuey." He praised between licks, voice muffled, hands gripping your perky ass to pull you closer, fingers kneading the firm flesh.

Your moans filled the grove, high and needy, echoing off the glowing tendrils, each one making his heart swell with love and possession. Rising, he shed his loincloth, his thick cock springing free, long and girthy, veins pulsing, the tip flushed and dripping. You licked your lips, reaching for him, but he caught your wrists gently, guiding you down onto the soft moss.

"Let me take care of you." He said, voice husky with adoration, positioning himself between your thighs. He rubbed the head of his cock through your folds, coating himself in your wetness, teasing your entrance until you bucked up, whining. "Gonna fill you up. Breed you. Make you mine in every way."

With a shared nod through the tsaheylu, he pushed in slowly, inch by inch, stretching your tight pussy around his girth. You cried out, the burn of fullness exquisite, walls fluttering as he bottomed out, the bulge of his cock visible in your lower belly, a prominent swell that made him groan in awe.

"Look at that." He rasped, hand pressing against it, feeling himself inside you. "Taking me so deep. Fuck, you feel like heaven. Hot, wet, squeezing me perfect."

He started thrusting, slow at first, animalistic growls rumbling from his chest as he sniffed at your neck, marking you with his scent, hips snapping harder. The pace built, messy and primal, skin slapping against skin, your juices coating his balls as he pounded into you. Messy kisses followed, lips bruising, saliva trailing between mouths as tongues battled.

He worshiped every inch, sucking marks into your breasts after ripping the beads away, laving your nipples with his tongue while his hand rubbed the tummy bulge, obsessed with how you accommodated him.

"Love this body." He panted, nipping your collarbone, tail thrashing wildly. "These tits, this ass, this pussy, all mine. Gonna knot you, fill you with my cum until you're dripping."

You clawed at his back, legs wrapping around his waist, heels digging into his ass to pull him deeper.

"Yes, Jake! Harder, breed me!" You moaned, the bond letting you feel his impending release, the knot at the base of his cock swelling.

He rutted like a beast, sniffing your hair, your sweat-slicked skin, lost in the haze of love and lust. With a roar, he slammed home, knot inflating to lock you together, hot spurts of cum flooding your womb as he ground against you, milking every drop. Your orgasm crashed over you, pussy spasming around him, milking his seed as waves of ecstasy pulsed through the tsaheylu.

He collapsed onto you, still buried deep, peppering your face with soft kisses, both panting.

"My mate." He whispered, golden eyes shining with tears of his own, hand stroking your belly where his cum warmed you. "I love you. So fucking much."

You smiled through your haze, arms around his neck, body glowing with aftershocks. "My warrior. My heart. We're one now."

Happiness bloomed in your chest, so profound it bordered on pain, the love you shared a living force, unbreakable.

~

Months blurred into a dream of domestic bliss.

Jake's days filled with hunts and duties as a full Omatikaya warrior, but his nights were yours, bodies entwining under the stars, the tsaheylu reaffirming your bond with every touch. The clan celebrated your union with feasts and dances, Neytiri's blessing a quiet anchor in the joy.

Now, as the sun filtered through the woven walls of your shared kelku, you stood before a reflective pool, hands cradling the gentle swell of your belly.

Pregnancy suited you.

Your skin glowed with an inner luminescence, breasts fuller and heavier, nipples a deeper blue against the azure hue. Your long hair framed your face, golden eyes sparkling with a serene happiness, the gradient loincloth adjusted to accommodate your changing form. You felt radiant, alive with the life growing inside, a testament to Jake's love.

He entered quietly, his presence announced by the soft pad of his feet, golden eyes lighting up as they roamed your body. Dropping his hunting gear, he crossed to you in three strides, hands immediately going to your waist, then lower to splay over your bump.

"Look at you." He breathed, voice thick with wonder, kneeling to press his ear against your belly, listening to the faint flutter within. "Glowing like a pretty flower. More beautiful than ever, carrying my child and all mine."

His tail curled around your leg possessively, lips brushing your skin in feather-light kisses.

You giggled, a light sound that made his heart flip, fingers threading through his hair.

"Ma'Jake, you're insatiable." You teased, though your body warmed at his touch, pussy aching faintly even now.

Rising, he pulled you into his arms, careful of your belly, nuzzling your neck and inhaling your changed scent that’s richer, sweeter with the pregnancy.

"Gonna give you more babies." He murmured against your ear, voice playful yet serious, hands cupping your ass gently. "Fill you up again and again. Our family strong, like us."

You swatted his chest lightly, purple blush tinting your cheeks, ears twitching in amusement.

"Skxawng! Our first isn't even out yet, and you haven't named him." You chided, though your golden eyes danced with love, body leaning into his solid frame.

He grinned, that boyish smile that still made your heart stutter, pulling back to gaze at you.

"You're already dressed, little man. It's time for bed," you explain, watching him pounce around the room in his race car pajamas, dinosaur plushy in hand. "No," he protests again.

"Come on, I'll lay with you," you say, sitting on his bed, piling back his sheets. "I want daddy to put me to bed," he demands, causing a sigh to leave your lips.

"I'm sorry, baby, but Daddy is busy at work," you explain, patting the bed. "He's always busy," he complains, breaking your heart. "I know," breathing in another sigh, looking at his bed, thinking of any way you can get him into bed.

"You can sleep with me tonight, that way Daddy will be there when he gets home," you say, standing up, watching your son's face light up. Noticing all of Jack's features in the boy, big hazel eyes glowing in the dim light of his night light, dark rustic red hair still damp from his bath before dinner.

"Yeah, yeah," he yells, excitedly running out of the room to your shared bedroom, leaving you behind. Laughing at the little man, going over to the wall, unplugging his nightlight from the socket. Hearing his giggles down the hall, stopping in your bedroom doorway, met with the sight of him snuggled up on your side of the bed.

Closing the door, leaving it slightly ajar so Jack could open it quietly, putting his nightlight in the nearest outlet before hopping into bed. Head hitting the pillow, immediately smelling Jack, down to the aftershave he barely uses.

Reaching over, turning off the nightstand lamp before snuggling up close, trying to leave Jack enough room. Smelling the lotion on your son's skin, having smothered him with it after his bath, having done it since the first time you gave him a bath at home, reminding you of the past seven years raising him.

Closing your eyes, silently hoping Jack wouldn't mind sharing a bit of his side of the bed. Waking you from the fading thought, your phone ringing on your nightstand. Hearing your son groan, diving his head under the covers. Reaching over him, grabbing the phone, reading the name 'Jack'.

"Hey, you. We're trying to sleep here," you joke, answering the phone. "Yeah, sorry, I just..." He speaks, pausing to take a breath. "Can you put him on the phone for me, please?" he asks, voice becoming shaky with each word.

"What's wrong, Jack?" you whisper. "Please, I just need to hear him," he begs, hearing a sob climb up his throat.

"Yeah, okay, one second," you say, looking over to your son's blanketed body. "Daddy wants to say goodnight," you say, watching him wiggle like a worm to uncover himself. Handing him the phone, helping him put it up to his ear.

"Hi, Daddy," he greets cutely into the phone, hearing only mumbles in response. "Yeah, I'm sleeping in your bed tonight," he says, excitedly, smiling widely. Tuning out their conversation, thinking back to the evening, nothing seemed wrong. Jack left just after dinner, kissing you both before exiting the door.

"Daddy wants to talk to you," a small voice snaps you out of it. "Thank you, baby, now get curled up for me," you say, smiling, taking the phone. Watching as he does so, as you bring the phone up to your ear.

"Hey, Handsome," you say softly, trying to whisper. "Hey, sorry I called so late. I just need to hear you guys before going back in," he explains, sounding strained. "No worries, Jack, we just laid down. We're missing you, even got a spot for you in the bed for when you get home," you comfort him, receiving small chuckles, bringing a cheek-hurting smile to your face.

"Jack, what happened? Talk to me," you gently push, hearing the man sigh before his shaky voice comes through the other end. "We had a kid come in, hit by a truck while walking down the road with his mom. Half of her body is broken, and the kid didn't make it." He cries, taking deep breaths before continuing. "The fucker was on his phone when he hit them. Fuck! I did everything I could, all I could think about was you two." Sobs sound through the phone along with Jack's hurried steps, imagining he raced somewhere more private.

"Oh, Jack, I'm so sorry." You say all you could say, hearing him cry through the phone. "I just needed to hear you both, to know... you're okay," he explains himself once again, as if he needed to.

"We're okay. We're safe, waiting for you at home," you comfort him, hearing Jack sniffle. "Good..." he whispers, allowing the call of his name to sound through the phone.

"I have to go, I love you." He says, hearing a metal door open, "We love you two, see you in the morning, Jack," you say before exchanging small byes.

Placing your phone on Jack's nightstand, looking over to your sleeping boy. Burying yourself under the covers, wrapping an arm around him, bringing your son close. Quietly telling yourself he was okay, safe, sleeping soundly in your arms, then closing your eyes, slowly falling asleep.

Waking to a warm arm wrapping around you, smelling the familiar scent of thick body wash, drowning out the smell of sterilization. Turning in your small spot in the bed while removing your son's elbow from your ribcage.

Giving Jack room to slide into bed, quickly cuddling up into his chest, soaking up his existence. Cupping his stubbled cheek in the dim room, meeting his tired eyes. Pushing up, giving his lips a soft, quick kiss, feeling his hands softly caress your back before reaching for your son.

Hearing him groan, cuddling up against your back, dinosaur tail digging into your spine. Smiling to yourself, eyes closing, hearing the lullaby of air entering Jack's lungs, with the faint sound of his heartbeat.

"I love you," Jack whispers, his hand taking your hand that lies atop his chest. "I love you too," you whisper back. "Love you too, Daddy," a small, tired voice sounds from behind you. Smiling, feeling Jack give your hand a small squeeze, allowing sleep to take you into the morning.

Hello, I hope you enjoyed if there is any grammar mistakes or misspellings sorry about that feel free to let me know in the comments, have a great day/afternoon/night!

♥ mx-pastelwriting does not consent to their fanfiction being copied, copied & credited, translated, used in videos and/or audios, screenshotted, used in AI.

Fanfiction is protected under copyright law when plagiarism is involved. If you plagiarize my work, either a piece or whole in any language, I will take legal action. Inspiration or the same idea does NOT apply to this, only word-for-word plagiarism in any language.

“I heard he cheated.”

“Oh my god–”

“Yeah, I heard that too!”

The voices were hushed but sharp. A whisper that could make your ear bleed with how fast the words were thrown around. John Shen wasn’t listening to this particular conversation. He had already heard this theory from the PEDS floor when he went up to check on a child he had helped Abbot save from a drowning incident. Despite John being close by, the nurses that were huddled on the other side of The Hub didn’t stop their gossip. 

Princess was in the small group – unsurprising, John thought – and peeked over at John past various shoulders. She ducked back down into the huddle, “I haven’t heard anything as to why they broke up,” she said, “but I did hear that she didn’t even talk to him before she left. He came home from a shift and everything of hers was gone.”

A redheaded woman clicked her tongue. She was a travel nurse from Ohio. “That means he cheated. Women don’t just up and leave like that over anything else.” John Shen sucked in a deep breath through his teeth and tried to focus on the computer screen in front of him. He was trying to find any information on a supplement that came from overseas. His patient stated that she was using it for weight loss and mental clarity, but with her high levels of mercury in her system, John doubted it would do anything for her. 

“He’s a good guy,” Nurse Jesse hissed over the small group. He eyed the redhead before continuing his defense. “You don’t know him or her but their love is something real, something deep.” The redhead rolled her eyes. Princess looked up at Jesse expectantly, silently digging for anything new to add to the gossip mill. “He hasn’t talked about it.” He told her. “And he’s not going to tell anyone who works here because they’re all blabbermouths.”

“Shut up,” the Tagalog was quick and while Jesse didn’t know what Princess said, he could understand her face when she said it. He shook his head at the group before stepping away to help with an incoming patient. 

John Shen didn’t even pretend to read the FDA article anymore. He ran a hand through his hair and cleared his throat before looking towards the nurses. “I didn’t cheat. She didn’t cheat.” He said. Wide-eyed and startled, the nurses looked over at John. He continued, “I got home from a shift and she was gone. Her clothes, her lamp, her trinkets, her ugly cat.” John cleared his throat. He could feel the lump forming. He didn’t want to get emotional here. “People break up.” 

The Ohio nurse took in John’s demeanor from over the lens of her readers. Her mouth was squished over to the right and she made a small, dissatisfied hum before pushing the glasses back up her nose and her feet started to move towards another doctor. Princess’s eyes were wide but she tried her best to give John a sympathetic look. She was sympathetic to John’s situation, but it didn’t mean she didn’t want to know all the juicy details.

A few other nurses that were huddled around, quietly dispersed as well. As much as they wanted to continue to ponder over what happened, it didn’t mean they wanted to do it with John himself. Princess stepped over to John, leaning onto the counter of The Hub. She rubbed her lips together, thinking of a way to ask him without sounding rude or harsh. “Did you guys have a big fight?” Her voice was respectful, but John still gritted his teeth. He shook his head once, stiffly. “Do you know where she is?”

John had a hand on the computer mouse, his fingers twitched. “Uh,” he cleared his throat, “She sent me an email to let me know that she was safe and… fine.”

Princess’s brows rose up on her face. “Oh?” She said, “She didn’t say where she went?”

John shook his head again. “Probably New England, she has family in Mass.” Princess twiddled with her fingers for a moment, letting a silence fall between the two. John’s grip on the mouse in his hand tightened and he begged for Princess to be called away inside his head. He knew as soon as that information left his mouth, it would be spread throughout the whole hospital before his lunch break. 

“Whatever happened, Dr. Shen,” Princess’s voice was quiet and she stuttered a bit, “I hope you’re able to heal.” John looked over at Princess, a bit taken aback, and gave her a closed lipped smile. “I really did think the two of you would get married.” After a beat, John simply gave a curt nod before getting up and heading towards the staff break room. 

***

It barely took an hour before Princess gabbed to everyone about the new gossip she had acquired. And of course people took her word for it since it came directly from John himself. But even so, the rumors still lived as no one knew exactly why the two of you broke up. And at this point, John wouldn’t mind if he had to die being ideally one of the two people on this earth who knew.

The rest of his shift went by okay. Abbot seemed to be keeping an extra eye on him and Ellis didn’t give him as much shit as she usually did each shift. Every nurse that interacted with him seemed to do their job with a sad look on their face or with a side eye and pursed lips. John seemed to think that the public opinion on him at PTMC was pretty split down the middle. John was able to leave swiftly after handing off his cases to Mel King. Mel seemed to be a day or two behind on the hospital gossip, so she talked to him like normal. Something he was grateful for. 

When he got home to his apartment, he dropped his bag onto the floor with a thud, kicked off his shoes and collapsed onto the couch. His apartment seemed colder for the past few days. There were awkward and odd spots that were void of things. His couch used to have pillows on them. His shelves had more trinkets and picture frames scattered across them. Even his fridge had missing spots. An expensive cheese from New York used to sit on the top shelf. He thought it was gross but now he yearned to hear the crinkle of the paper wrapping and quiet hum of approval come from you as you always took a small nibble before cutting bigger pieces off for a sandwich or snack board. 

He debated clicking on the TV for some white noise but instead ran a hand over his face, eyes squeezed shut as he let out a groan. “Fuck,” he muttered. He didn’t want to do it but he knew it was the only way to communicate with you now. It sent a bubble of frustration through his chest, knowing his number was blocked. He remembered calling and calling and calling. He remembered sending out texts that would only go unresponsive. He didn’t know what to do that night he came home and you were gone. 

He remembered calling Jack Abbot, thinking that somewhere in his thick military skull, he would magically know how to track you down. He remembered Abbot on the phone with him, talking to him in short clipped responses, trying to get the most concise information from John. 

“Are you sure she’s missing?”

“Of course I’m sure she’s fucking missing, Jack!” John yelled at Jack more than he should have but who could blame him, John was scared. “What if she’s fucking dead?”

Jack Abbot corrected John swiftly with a disagreeing click, “She’s not dead, John.” A moment of pause. “Are things missing?”

“Missing?” John stood in the middle of his hallway, confused that Jack would even ask that question. Jack rambled on the phone, if things looked like they were messed with, maybe it was a burglary. If things weren’t taken, then sure, she could have been taken. But if things were gone, especially in an organized fashion, maybe there was a more logical reason for it. John remembered Jack’s voice fading into a constant muffle of sound as his eyes finally focused for the first time since he had gotten home that night. 

He saw his oak door. He saw the side table next to it. One that he had before he had met you, but you picked out the decorative bowl that sat atop of it at a thrift store in New Jersey. It would be the catcher for keys, wallets, spare money. All of which he saw as they were subconsciously dropped into the bowl by him when he came home that night. A built in habit that was akin to breathing now. He stepped towards it as he eyed the odd object in the bowl.

It was a lone key to the apartment. Not attached to a ring of any sorts and it looked cleaner almost, like it had been cleaned before being placed into its final resting place. 

Your key.

Jack was yelling at John by now, making sure the young Asian man wasn’t spiraling. “John!” His name finally cut through to him and John let out a mumbled acknowledgement. “What’s up?”

John didn’t answer right away. His eyes went down from the bowl to the shoe rack. There were empty spaces in it. Where were your running shoes? The heels you only wore when you went to a fancy restaurant? What about your flip flops for the beach? All gone. 

“John…”

As if he was a blind man finally being able to see for the first time in his life, he noticed them. He noticed them all. The missing throw on the recliner. The missing candles you liked to burn after a long day. The missing coffee mugs that you liked to get from places you would go – from amusement parks and big cities to a mom n’ pop convenience store in the middle of nowhere. 

Everything that was yours was gone. 

You were gone.

He remembered his phone buzzing in his hand. Jack Abbot had hung up on John and then called him again and again. John blinked a few times and then answered, “She left.” John had spent the rest of that night yelling, crying, cursing, and trying to contact you. It wasn’t until around 4am the next morning that he had gotten an email.

It lit up his phone screen and his face in a flash. Groaning and sore, John opened it through the sight of one of his eyes. He didn’t want to move his smushed up face from the warm pillow of his cold bed. Tapping through his phone like he was drunk, he finally focused on the words:

John–

I am safe. I am okay.

But I cannot do this anymore.

I am sorry.

The thing that really grinded his gears was the “SENT FROM IPHONE” at the end of it. He read the email more times than he could have counted. He didn’t remember reading something over and over and over again since he was in Pre-Med. So eager to become a doctor and save people. So eager to be looked at as impressive and attractive. So eager to live his life to the fullest as a bachelor but he threw that all away during his second year of residency. He threw it all away for you. 

Now as he sat on his couch a week after the night you left, he thumbed at his phone, finding the email. He tapped on the reply button and let out a breath. He didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know if he wanted to say something. He had a right to be upset. How could you just walk away without even talking to him about it? How could you pack up all your shit and not turn back without a glance? How could you leave him for one… small… mistake?

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” John repeated the word like a mantra, like a spell. It seemed to calm him as his thumbs began to dance across his phone keyboard like they were possessed. He couldn’t stop them even if he wanted to.

I wish we could have talked before you left.

I wish we could have said goodbye.

I wish I could fix it all.

I wish I could kiss you.

I wish I could touch you.

I love you.

I’m sorry im sorry im sorry im sorry im sorry

***

“All I’m saying is that if you want her back, then go and get her.” Nurse Donnie said, “You know where her family lives. Didn’t you visit them last summer? Somewhere on the Cape? If you go there and explain that you need to just talk to her, maybe they’ll reach out to her and you know, let her know?” John didn’t even bother looking over at the talkative nurse. Donnie was a buddy of his, they would hit up the local bars together after a shift and when John first started his residency, they would go and hunt for women together. Something to bring home, something to brag about to each other. 

John tried his best to read the names of patients on the board above his head but each one looked like gibberish. He’d been on shift for about four hours and each new hour was more painful than the last. None of the patients that were on the brink of death made a recovery. Every case from the Emergency waiting room seemed to be a brand new illness or problem and John had to do cross referencing and research and get second and third opinions on just about everything. 

“I don’t think she would appreciate me harassing her parents.”

Donnie made a face. “They love you, yeah?” Donnie paused for an answer but just continued when he didn’t get one. “You’re not a bad man, John. There was just a… misunderstanding… or something.”

John Shen let out a chuckle, one bare of humor. “Yeah, a misunderstanding.” Donnie quieted down. He shuffled in his spot and adjusted the tablet in his hands more than a few times. 

“Bro,” Donnie’s voice was quieter, and he spoke slowly, so he wouldn’t spook John off. “John– what happened?”

John finally looked over at Donnie Donahue. John thought about it, for a split second he considered telling Donnie right then and there, but instead, John gave Donnie a pat on the shoulder that ended in a squeeze. John told Donnie without any words to just let it go.

*** 

While on his lunch, John stood hunched over the railing that protected him from falling to his death below. He held half of a sandwich in his hand, chewing slowly as he watched the life in the night slowly drift to an occasional car or person finding their way on the dimly lit streets.

John didn’t bother to look to see who pushed their way onto the roof as the door made a loud crank of noise and a soft slam as it fell back into place. John took another bite of his sandwich. The bread was making his throat dry but he didn’t want to bend down to grab his energy drink that sat on the ledge beside his foot. 

Jack Abbot was quiet as he found himself a spot next to John. Jack made himself comfortable. With his boxy lunchbox slung over his shoulder, Jack set it onto the concrete between him and John and started to dig through it. John could hear the crinkle of plastic and the pop of a soda can. Jack took a swig of his soda and then placed it next to his lunchbox. Then he made himself comfortable against the railing, copying John’s position, looking out into the Pittsburgh night. Jack unwrapped his own sandwich and took a bite. Both men stood there on the roof and chewed. 

“Thank you,” John cleared his throat after swallowing another bite of his food. Jack looked over at him with a raised eyebrow in question. “For not telling people… about…”

Jack waved his free hand at John. “It’s not my business to tell.” Jack said, “Why would I try and make you more miserable than you already are?”

“I’m not miserable.”

Jack snorted. Jack took a big bite of his sandwich, muffled more chuckles that were trying to bubble up. “I’ve been through breakups, boy – you are miserable.” John finished his sandwich and crumbled the suran wrap in his hand, balling it up in his palm and giving it a squeeze. Of course he was miserable! How could he not be? John Shen saw you as the love of his life. 

“She left. And it was my fault.”

Jack looked over at John, a sad look on his face. “Are you sure?” Now it was John’s turn to snort. He nodded a few times, biting down on his bottom lip in annoyance with himself. Jack Abbot’s voice was soft, quiet. He said each word as if not to scare John off, like a hurt animal. “How do you know?”

John’s fists balled up tightly, knuckles protruding under the skin. “Because I’m a fucking idiot!” John’s voice did get louder than he thought it would be.

“John,” Jack said, “You didn’t cheat, right?”

Jack felt a wave of relief when John shook his head quickly. John could feel his eyes begin to burn as that familiar feeling started to rise within him. One that was so frustrated with himself. One that echoed over and over and over that he was the stupidest man on this planet, worthless of everything, worthless of you. “I told her that I didn’t see– fuck!” The trash in John’s hand found itself dropping to his feet as he used his hands to try and wipe the stray tears that slid down his face. “I fucking told her that I didn’t see myself marrying her.” John sniffled as he wiped a few more tears away. “Do you remember that trip we took to Chicago last month?” John didn’t look over to see if Jack nodded, he knew he did. Jack told him about an underground pizza joint that looked like trash but would be the best Chicago style pizza John and you would ever have. Dr. Robby had disagreed with Jack’s choice, and promptly launched into a lecture about where all the good pizza was for whatever vibe you were looking for. 

“We mainly went over there for a wedding – her best friend from college. It was a beautiful wedding. We had an amazing time and it was one of the best weeks of my life.” The tears slowly stopped the more John spoke. “She would make small comments here and there. You know, she liked the cake. It was gigantic, probably about five tiers.  But she went on about how she would prefer a simple one tiered cake for the bridal party and such and then have cake for the guests be from, like, sheet cakes or something.” 

“She loved the lights that were all over the reception area. Like tiny little fairy lights. They had a photo booth that we used and got fun pictures from. She would say that she liked that idea and would have to keep it in mind. I mean, it was just throughout the night, she would go on about what she liked and what she didn’t like about things. Like she was making a list or something.” John let out a groan and hid his face in his hands. “I’m such a fucking idiot.”

“I didn’t think anything of it at the time. We came back from Chicago and I got back into the groove of work and so did she–” John did prefer his night shifts, but would switch it up every few months so he could have some nights with you. Your job was an office nine to five for an accounting firm. It was good money and you actually loved math and crunching numbers all day. John would tease you for being a bigger nerd than him. “–and one day when I got home from a shift, she was in the living room with a few friends. They were laughing and gossiping and drinking some wine. They had a movie on and some magazines thrown about. I didn’t see what the magazines were for at first but they were excited to see me and stuff. After a refill of their wine and a glass of my own, I grabbed a magazine to thumb through as they talked about some girl drama,” John took in a deep breath through his nose and then blew the hot air out of his mouth. It was cold on the roof, but a light sweater could handle it.

“It was a wedding magazine. I didn’t think anything of it at first, kind of weird but then I put that one down on the coffee table and saw the others. So many and some other regular catalogs. I found out later that they were typically used to find gifts for gift registries.” John said, “I didn’t say anything at the time. I downed the rest of my glass and then excused myself from the girls. I laid on our bed for what felt like hours. I knew none of these friends that were over weren’t in relationships, let alone getting married. The math checked out, you know? She was looking at wedding magazines and catalogs and all this shit because she was expecting me to propose.”

John finally looked over at Jack Abbot. John’s eyes were red from his tears but as Jack looked into them, he saw that John was regretful… disappointed. “We got into bed later that night and I asked her what the occasion was. She didn’t say anything specific, of course. So I bit the bullet and asked her if she was expecting me to propose. She seemed surprised, I think.” John looked away from Jack and towards the moon that was hiding between the clouds of the dark sky. “She was quiet. For a while.” John did another humorless snort. “I think I knew I fucked up with that question. Of course she was expecting me to propose. We were coming up on our four year anniversary at the end of the year. Her brother got married last year, then her college best friend. I think a few people in her office recently got engaged as well. Just a lot of marriages and I guess, she was feeling the heat.”

John winced at his own words. “Not her, me.”

Jack didn’t say anything. He didn’t even give a hum of acknowledgement in between John’s rambling. He didn’t want to shut down John’s process right now. Jack knew it was the first time John was telling someone about the situation. Jack ate his sandwich, slow bite after slow bite.

“She asked me instead if I felt like I was going to propose.” John’s fists started to ball up again. The frustration towards himself boiling up inside of him. “I told her it wasn’t something I’ve been thinking about. She seemed more angry than sad when I said that.” John’s teeth started to grit. “She asked me what she saw for our future and I said I didn’t know. Can you believe that?” He asked Jack indirectly. “I told her I didn’t fucking know. I guess in my stupid mind we were to stay this perfect boyfriend and girlfriend thing. We would live forever in my apartment and just be as is. Which isn’t a bad thing, obviously. But she wanted more. She wanted to be–” John’s voice cracked and his fists unclenched to grab ahold of the railing. “She wanted to be my wife. She wanted to be my fucking wife.”

***

John hadn’t heard anything from the PTMC gossip mill in a few days. Like before, he was sure that Jack wouldn’t say anything after his roof top confessional but there was always that doubt deep inside of him. The cowardly part. The same one that didn’t see how important marriage was – how important being married to him was. 

While he still heard the occasional mutterings about people’s theories of his relationship, it wasn’t as bad as before. He found himself becoming more relaxed at work again. He was more talkative, less guarded, and would give out the occasional quip every now and then. John and Parker Ellis would spend a whole shift going back and forth like they usually would and Parker was ecstatic about that! She didn’t let it show on her face or show it out loud in case it would spook John but she was ecstatic. 

John hadn’t heard anything from you. 

He tried to keep his mind off of it but he found himself checking his email and tapping on the thread to read the message he’s read a thousand times by now and to nitpick his own email back to you. He thought about sending another one. One more clearer, professional. But he felt like if he did open up a fresh email to send, it would end up the same as the other – in a ramble of how sorry he was and how much he missed you. 

He had tried to check your social media accounts over the past few weeks. Your Instagram had him blocked. And when he asked Donnie Donahue very discreetly to check your account, he was informed by the nurse that your account had gone private. It didn’t stop the nurse from requesting to follow you. John might have punched Donnie in the shoulder for doing that. 

Your Facebook, that you kept mainly to keep in touch with family and some long distance friends, was still up. You hadn’t unfriended or blocked him on that yet (which he was thankful for) but you didn’t use it as much. John took the opportunity to check your mother’s profile. She was a heavy Facebook poster, something all mothers seemed to be, like it was built inside of them. Sometimes he wondered if you were a mom, would you be the same…

When he found the profile, the stress in his shoulders released as he found her still his friend. He wasn’t sure if she would outwardly unfriend him, a part of him wondered if she even knew how. John started to scroll down the feed mindlessly, trying to get anything about you. John knew your mom loved you dearly. She always begged for you to move closer to the Cape but John’s career was going to keep him in Pittsburgh and you had no problem with that. 

God, you were always so supportive of him. 

Your older brother lived closer to your parents. Him and his newlywed wife bought a home just north of Boston. Your brother worked as an architect in the city and his wife was a pediatric nurse at Mass General. It was something you and your brother laughed about the first Thanksgiving you all spent together a few years ago. You both had a type – medical professionals in tight scrubs. 

He remembered a few months before they left for Chicago that your brother and his wife were finally expecting their first child. You were so excited. You were going to be an aunt and John was going to be an uncle! And John couldn’t lie, he was excited to be that. He would get to enjoy the cuteness of a baby without having to deal with the mess. He would get to enjoy the fun of a toddler without having to deal with the mess. He would get to enjoy the adventures of a kid without having to deal with the mess. 

On his phone, he came across a picture your mother had uploaded. It was your brother and his expecting wife in their kitchen, hands on the bump of her stomach, smiles on their faces. It was recent, at least within the last week. John didn’t like the photo. He didn’t want to have your mother be notified of his lurking. 

Scrolling more, he came across different posts from your mom. She posted a photo of a squirrel that would rob her bird food from the feeder in her garden. It was the fattest squirrel ever to exist. John remembered when you told him that squirrel had been there for years – ever since your junior year of high school. John didn’t believe you but he didn’t know the lifespan of squirrels so he would let it slide without protest. 

Your mother posted about a nice dinner she had with your father. A new place had opened up on the Cape and it specialized in – who would have guessed! – seafood. A bit on the pricey side, which John was sure your father probably didn’t appreciate but it was something he always had to be okay with since he was the reason they lived in Cape Cod anyway, and you know you’re going to spend money to be there. Plus they were year rounders, even at their age! While most of their neighbors were seasonal campers from across the country or snowbirds who would fly down to Florida once it got below eighty degrees, your parents were diehard New Englanders. John was sure it was why you hated going any farther than Virginia. 

John skimmed and scrolled past more posts that weren’t important to him. God, your mother liked to gab! He was almost too fast for one in particular but quickly backtracked and saw a picture that would make his heart rate thump hard through his chest. 

There was a picture. The sun was rising up over the water, peeking up through the clouds. Orange, red, pink across the sky. Truly beautiful. And while he couldn’t see your face, he knew it was you. He knew it was one of the chairs on your parents’ front porch. It was a big porch with lots of outside furniture. There were two big Adirondack chairs where your mom and dad would sit out for a cup of coffee in the morning and a glass of wine in the evening. 

Your mom had taken the picture through the screen door that looked out to the porch. You were sitting in the chair, legs up under you, big sweater on. You held a mug to your lips. It was large, almost comically so. John knew you loved to use it for hot cocoa in the winters. 

You were looking towards the sun. 

John didn’t know why but he felt like it was taken the morning after you left. The morning you sent him the email saying you were safe. John felt a sickness in his stomach. He knew you wouldn’t keep this from your parents. Besides John himself, your family was your rock. You were all so close to each other. 

For the caption, your mother simply put: MY GIRL IS HOME

***

So John knew where you were. 

You were at your parents’ house. 

It made sense but now that he knew for sure, it kept eating away at him. You still hadn’t reached back out to him at all. He checked every free moment he had. He lingered on your mother’s Facebook, seeing if maybe she had put a new update about you. But so far, it was only the one. He would look at it unblinking, until his eyes were burning and he physically couldn’t stop them from blinking. 

More days passed, then some more weeks. Eventually, it had been officially three months since you had left John. Each month that went by, he seemed to be more and more of a shell. He knew what to do, what to say, where to go, but there wasn’t a spark anymore. No twinkle in his eyes. Less and less quick banter and funny jokes. John was finally starting to realize that this breakup may truly be the end of the two of you. Sure, he wasn’t expecting a second chance if he had gotten a moment to speak with you since you left but he certainly wanted closure. 

Dana would pester him more, looking up at the handsome Asian man from behind her readers, mouth slightly crooked with a pout and eyebrows pressed together. She would give John a pat on the back or a longer hug if he came in looking just a little too sad for her liking. While Dr. Robby tried to keep his nose out of it, he was sure to let John know that he was always available to talk to. John appreciated that. While Jack Abbot was his go-to for advice, he did respect Dr. Robby’s opinions and life experiences. 

Mel King had finally been updated on John’s love life. She had heard the news when dropping in on a conversation between Trinity Santos and Dennis Whitaker. She was taken aback by the news, just like everyone else had over the past few months. But Mel felt bad for not acknowledging John’s pain and sadness. When she told John of this, he chuckled. Mel King was now even more confused. “You’ve treated me the same no matter what and I appreciated it.”

“Oh.” Mel gave a small tight lipped smile, nervous but kind of happy. “How have you been, uh, lately?”

“Shitty, to be honest.”

“Oh.” Mel’s face twisted as she took in that information. Mel’s mouth fell open as she was trying to find something to say but thankfully on her part, an ambulance came rushing into the bay and soon enough, doctors and nurses were scrambling around. 

John decided to spring into action, and rushed over to the paramedics who were wheeling in a woman on a gurney. She was practically rolling around onto it, uncomfortable from the pain in her body. John noticed the swollenness of her stomach – she was pregnant. “What do you got?” John said.

The woman paramedic was quick in her words, “Thirty five year old woman, was in her hotel room when her water broke. Her husband’s on the way in. Just shy of thirty six weeks.”

“Thirty five weeks and three days– fuck!” The woman groaned through gritted teeth and rolled on the gurney more. The other paramedic on the call held the gurney steady until the woman steadied. John didn’t know when Jack Abbot showed up next to him but Jack got clarification on the woman’s vitals. They weren’t bad but they weren’t great. 

It wasn’t until they got the patient over to a room and off of the ambulance gurney until John noticed it was your sister in law. “Jesus– Monica?” She groaned and peeked over at the person calling her name with one eye. Her hands were holding her stomach and she let out a chuckle. 

“Oh, this is going to be fun!” Monica had a sheet over her legs, her feet were in stirrups, making it easier for the doctors and nurses to get a better look at her nether regions while they tried to deliver her premature baby. Jack Abbot sat at the end of Monica’s bed and peeked around the sheet to John. Jack hoped this wasn’t some past hookup situation. The last time one of those happened, it ended up with scalpels being thrown and a call to security. It was a few months before John had met you but Jack remembered it clear as day. 

Nurse Perlah was on the other side of the gurney, rambling off Monica’s vitals. Blood pressure was high but that was expected with her current condition. Perlah then started on getting vitals of the baby. Monica let out another long groan and then in the next moment, Jack stood at the end of the gurney and locked eyes with Monica. 

Jack said her name calmly, “You’re going to have the baby. It’s coming now and we’re going to have to deliver it, okay?”

Monica started to shake her head, “No, no, no, we have to wait for my husband. He’s coming, I promise–” Another contraction broke through her body and her sentence transformed into a scream. “He’s early,” Monica’s hands rubbed at her stomach. Her body felt like it was on fire. “Is he going to be okay?”

“We can’t know that for sure until we get him out.” John piped up. The doctor he knew himself to be broke through and he joined Jack down by her legs. John paused before lifting up the sheet that covered Monica. “Mon, if you are not comfortable with this, please, tell me. I will not be offended.” Monica let out another groan, but it didn’t seem directed at John. “Yeah, yeah, I don’t care, John, really– ohmygod!”

“Get her situated for pushing. I want her ready for her next contraction!” Jack Abbot said and the room and everyone in it seemed to shift gears.

“John–” He peeked over at Monica at the call of his name. “Have you seen Christopher yet?” John shook his head but it went unnoticed as Monica’s eyes squeezed shut. Jack worked her through her contraction and then when she opened her eyes again, a few tears fell from them. “Please, call him.” John nodded and stepped away from her and over to her purse that was placed to the side by a paramedic. He rummaged through her bag until he found the phone. Monica groaned out the pass code as another contraction started up. 

It felt like an out of body experience, really. He found Monica’s contacts and then started to scroll. He didn’t know whether to look for Christopher’s name in them or maybe something stupid like “baby daddy” or “handsome”. Like a reflex, he found a familiar name and pressed the phone to his ear. 

While chaos was surrounding John, nurses moved to grab different things, words came out of Jack’s mouth, guiding Monica through childbirth, OB finally made their way downstairs just as the head popped out. Somehow, all the commotion around him came to a halt and all he heard was the trill of the line, once…twice…three times, and then, “Mon? What did you forget?”

John’s mouth was dry. His lungs started to burn, begging for new oxygen to be sucked into them, but he couldn’t. He had frankly forgotten how to breathe.

“Monica?” After the moment of silence on the line, the noise finally started to make its way to you on the other side. “Hey, hey! Monica, are you okay?”

“Uh,” John’s fingers tightened on the phone. He felt faint. “She’s f-fine, the baby’s coming… she’s just looking for Christopher.”

Silence. 

John’s heart was in a steady thump. One that could be looked at as him being calm, cool, and collected, but in actuality, he was simply having an out of body experience. He knew once this phone call was over, he would have to go somewhere fast. The break room, a rest room, a closet – somewhere! – so that he didn’t break down in the worst way possible in front of all of his friends and colleagues. 

A scream from Monica seemed to break the silence. 

“She’s at PTMC?”

“Yes.” 

You sighed. Not of relief really, kind of like, annoyance, maybe? “She’s okay?”

“Yes.” John repeated. “The baby’s head is out, maybe another contraction or two and it will be out.”

“I’ll get a hold of Christopher.” You said. Your voice wasn’t angry or sad. It was neutral. “Please take care of her, John.” He heard you take a deep breath. “We’ll be over as quickly as possible.”