summary: One glitchy tablet, one HR email, and suddenly you’re married to your attending, Jack Abbot. HR thinks it was intentional and has already started merging your records. Claim it was a mistake, and your residency could be delayed. With only three months left until you’re an attending, Jack agrees to play along. Pretending to be married might save your career—but can your heart survive the side effects?
⊹ ࣪ ˖ word count: 147k┊complete┊(blurbs will be written sporadically)
⤷ CHAPTER INDEX:
⚕one.┊two.┊three.┊four.┊five.┊six.┊seven.┊eight.┊nine.┊ten.┊eleven. ┊twelve.┊thirteen.┊fourteen.┊ fifteen. ┊ sixteen.┊seventeen.┊eighteen┊ nineteen ┊twenty ┊twenty one ┊twenty two ┊twenty three
⤷ BLURBS INDEX:
⚕ long shift
⚕ halloween
⚕ the q-word
i'm not keeping a tag list for this series anymore. follow @s-writing-s-fics to get notified when i post a new blurb <33
here are all 14 prompts, the characters requested for them, and the dates they'll be going up. each of them will be posted at 5:00pm PST if everything goes right but ive also never used tumblrs queuing function so don't crucify me if something is late
I want to thank all of you so much for following, engaging, and enjoying my work! I truly love that I get to do this and I know I've posted thank you messages before, but I don't think I can ever overstate just how grateful for all of you <3
I think it's an absolute travesty that I can't come home from a long day of work, and fall into a beefy, older man's chest as he coos down at me, asking me what's got his brave girl so down as he rubs my back. All I want is to be coddled as we have dinner and then fall asleep in bed after talking about our day.
Like, what the FUCK do you mean i can't be scooped up by a pair of muscled arms, as I bury my face into a warm neck that smells like citrus body wash and cologne, his skin warm and hair slightly damp from a shower?! And he kisses softly along the sides of my face as he carries me upstairs, murmuring against my skin that "it's ok, my poor little sweetheart can turn off that hardworking brain, I'm here now, baby. Yeah, you know I've got you, don't you? Of course you do, you're my smart girl after all"
summary: One glitchy tablet, one HR email, and suddenly you’re married to your attending, Jack Abbot. HR thinks it was intentional and has already started merging your records. Claim it was a mistake, and your residency could be delayed. With only three months left until you're an attending, Jack agrees to play along. Pretending to be married might save your career—but can your heart survive the side effects?
tags: accidental marriage, slow burn romance, HR involvement, nosy coworkers, reader is a PGY-4 resident, jack is not a widow in this fic, possible medical/legal inaccuracies, mutual pining, angst, guns mentioned, injuries
word count: 7.8k
a/n: thank you all for still being here! i appreciate you lots. love reading your comments <33 i hope you enjoy! and as always, since this is an ongoing process, your ideas and thoughts for future scenes are more than welcome! big kisses to everyone who has sent in ideas already<33
i'm not keeping a tag list for this series!
Diagnosis: Married | Masterlist
The Pitt | Masterlist
Main | Masterlist
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Olivia's never experienced a more painfully awkward breakfast in her life. And she's sat through her parents 'let's-tell-our-child-we're-divorcing-over-croissants' breakfast and survived. But this takes the prize. Because this time she's hungover, struggling for her life as she fights the nausea and throbbing in her head, while she has to watch as the two of you slowly torture yourselves over toast and coffee.
It's mostly quiet except for the occasional scrape of cutlery and chewing—something hungover her usually would appreciate, but today it's killing her. It's like you take turns to look at each other, just missing the other by seconds, and she can see both of you wanting to speak, but neither of you does. When she tries to force conversation, everything dies in short, flat answers.
Olivia had come ready for damage control after your phone call—the one where you'd sounded so heartbreakingly sure everything was over. But after seeing Jack at the party? The gifts, the speech, flying her out, the way he'd looked at you all night. The problem had never been feelings.
She had liked Jack the first time she met him because it had been obvious then, too. The man loved you. Desperately. The problem was that everyone seemed to see it except the two of you.
So, she was certain that things would be okay again. She only needed to give you slight pushes—saw it in the way you didn't deny her every time, how your eyes looked hopeful when she talked about him—and then that kiss happened, and somehow everything got worse.
Olivia still didn’t know what the hell had gone wrong. You hadn’t been in bed when she woke up, and she hadn’t had a chance to corner you yet. But something had shifted. Yes, you'd been upset when she found you afterwards, but not like this. She still thought it could be salvaged with a few encouraging words—the man had kissed you in private for fuck's sake! If that wasn’t a sign that it wasn’t just pretend, what was?
But you looked different now. Quieter. Defeated in a way that made Olivia’s stomach sink.
She sits and watches as you barely touch your food, keep your eyes fixed stubbornly on your plate—except every few minutes, when you’d glance toward Jack before catching yourself and looking away again.
And Jack—
Jesus Christ. He looked awful. Kept reaching for things that didn’t need reaching for to end up closer to you. Refilling your coffee before you asked. Sliding the jam toward you without a word. Every few minutes, Olivia also catches him looking. Quick little glances when he thinks you aren't paying attention. Checking if you’d eaten. Watching your face. Looking away the second you turned.
Two idiots. Clearly sad. Clearly in love. She's seconds away from grabbing both your heads and smashing them together.
"I’ll be right back," she announces suddenly, shoving her chair back.
Your head snaps up immediately, panic flickering across your face. Jack looks up, too, but neither of you says anything, which somehow makes it worse.
She shuts the bedroom door behind her with a long, suffering sigh and collapses onto the edge of the bed, grabbing her phone.
Robby picks up on the second ring. "You're alive," he teases, voice still gruff with sleep.
"Barely," she groans. "These two are gonna kill me."
He laughs softly. There's a rustling sound on the other end, and she imagines him sitting up in bed, sheets falling down on his lap, chest bare—she needs to focus.
"That bad?" he asks.
"You have no idea," she says, rubbing her temple. "We need to do something about it—it's even worse than I thought."
Robby's silent for a moment. "Hmm," he says, voice turning serious. "I think I might have an idea."
Olivia sits up immediately. "I knew there was a reason I liked you."
"Oh?" Robby replies, sounding far too pleased with himself. "You like me?
Her ears flush. "Oh, shut up!" she snaps, shifting on the bed. "Tell me your plan!"
"Yes, ma'am," he laughs.
"Any progress?" Parker asks as she leans against the counter, coffee cup balanced in one hand as she watches Shen stare blankly at the computer.
"None," Shen answers after a moment, drumming restless fingers against the desk. "Absolutely none."
Parker sighs and turns her attention down the hall as Abbot rounds the corner, a tablet tucked under his arm. He moves more slowly than usual—quieter, with less of his usual bark and bite.
"He's miserable," Parker murmurs. "Honestly, I’d prefer him to chew me out than to see him like this."
Shen follows her gaze and exhales through his nose. "Yeah."
Abbot pauses near the board, scanning patient updates. His jaw shifts like he’s grinding his teeth.
"Did you see her at rounds?"
Parker nods. "I think she looked even worse than Abbot does." She frowns, contemplating. "Do you think something happened?"
Shen bites the end of his pen. "No way, right? They seemed fine at the party."
Parker watches Abbot again. "...Yeah."
Jack knows he shouldn't be doing this. He'd promised himself that he wouldn't go back. But it's been weeks since the surprise party, weeks since that kiss, and weeks since he’s had a proper conversation with you.
You're still stuck on day shift, too. Through no fault of Robby’s this time—Gloria had stepped in, and suddenly you were staying put 'temporarily'. Temporary, his ass. At this point, he hardly ever sees you. Just quick hallway glances, elevator rides, and once in a while, a brief hug—but those are growing rarer.
So when the text came—the one he’d ignored for months—he answered. He put on his uniform, convincing himself it would be simple. Routine. A warehouse break-in—nothing major. Just in and out. But then someone panicked. Shots were fired, and everything went sideways.
Luke—a tall guy Jack barely knew—went down hard, hit in the side, then the jaw. Training kicked in before his mind could even catch up. Jack moved instinctively, dragging him to cover while bullets cracked overhead, stabilising him and applying pressure where needed.
After that, things blurred. Sirens. Movement. Noise. The Pitt. He barely registered the burning in his shoulder by the time Luke had already been rushed upstairs. Even then, he’d ignored it. Because Luke was alive. Because it barely hurt. Because—
Because maybe part of him didn’t care all that much lately. That thought sat ugly in his chest.
In the midst of it all, he had instinctively searched for you. Even in the chaos, he hadn’t seen you. Now that things had settled, he still can't find you. No glimpse of you in the hub, no voice echoing down the hall, no familiar figure moving between rooms. You're probably in an exam room, likely avoiding him.
His shoulder throbs harder.
"Fuck," he mutters. He steps toward the first empty room he sees, closes the door and pulls the curtain shut behind him. He gathers supplies one-handed, jaw tightening as he starts peeling off his shirt. It catches on the edge of the wound, and he bites back a hiss of pain.
Just as he throws the shirt on the bed, the door slams open. The curtain is ripped to the side violently as the door bangs shut. You stand there, breathing hard like you sprinted through the entire hospital. Your eyes are wild and desperate as you frantically sweep your gaze over him—face, chest, arms, stomach.
"I thought you got shot," you breathe out when you don't see anything out of place.
"You heard about my dramatic entrance?" he remarked lightly. "I was hoping for flowers, at least." He sits down on the bed, beginning to tear off the tape for the dressing.
That gets nothing from you. No eye roll. Not even an annoyed huff. Your chest is still rising too fast.
"What the fuck were you thinking?" you snap, voice cracking halfway through. "Why were you out there?"
"I—"
"Since when do you do that?"
Jack rubs at the back of his neck. "I've done it for about a year."
Your expression changes from confusion to hurt. "What?" Your brows furrow. "Have you done it while we've—" you trail off, hands gesturing between you.
"No," he says quickly and firmly. "No."
Your shoulders relax a bit, your breathing slowing as you watch him squeeze out saline and reach for a cotton swab. You frown, only then realising that he's sitting shirtless in front of you with a tray of medical supplies in front of him. The way he's favouring one arm, the ugly scrape across his shoulder— "Oh my god."
You move instantly, snapping on a pair of gloves, gently slapping his hand away. "Let me."
"It’s fine," he says automatically, even though he knows he can't reach it.
You shoot him a look sharp enough to silence him.
The room falls quiet as you step closer, reaching for a cotton swab with shaking fingers. You don’t say anything as you start cleaning the scrape. Your fingertips brush briefly against his skin as you adjust your grip, and something in his chest twists painfully. You haven’t touched him in weeks—not properly. No absentminded shoulder bumps, no hand on his back, no leaning into him during rounds—none of those quiet little gestures that used to come so naturally.
And now here you are, jaw tight like you're holding yourself together by sheer will, dabbing at the wound gently, fingers holding onto his shoulder to keep him still.
"Why do you do this?" you ask quietly as you place a dressing over it.
He tilts his head instead of shrugging. "It's better than golf," he jokes. You don't laugh. He tries again, "Midlife crisis?"
Maybe you’ll call him old, maybe you’ll roll your eyes—anything that’ll show him that he hasn’t ruined everything with that kiss. Instead, he hears a sniffle behind him.
Jack stills, turning to look over his shoulder. You're staring down at his back, jaw still tight, but now your eyes are also glassy.
"Whoa, hey," he turns around as you tear off your gloves and throw them into the bin forcefully. "Hey."
"I'm fine," you mutter, not looking at him.
"You're crying."
"I'm not." Your voice cracks on the final word, and Jack hates himself for choosing to respond to that text.
"Sweetheart," he says quietly, the word slipping from his lips before he can stop it. He hasn’t called you that in weeks.
You wrap your arms around yourself and sniff once again. You're still not looking at him. "You really scared me. I thought you got shot."
"Hey," he encourages softly. "Come here."
You hesitate, but then take a step closer to him. He reaches for your hands—they're still shaking a little. He’s not sure if you’ll let him, but you do. Before he can think better of it, he pulls you in between his knees.
He tilts his head, waiting until your eyes meet his. "I'm okay. My vest caught it—it’s just a graze."
"This time, maybe," you stress. "What about next time? You can’t control what happens out there, Jack."
He fights the urge to look away.
"You could’ve gotten seriously hurt," you add quietly.
"I know."
"I just—" Your voice wobbles again. "I don’t know what I would’ve done if—" You bite your lip hard and look away again.
He squeezes your hands gently, bringing your attention back to him. "I'm sorry," he says, and he means it. He wants to promise he won't do it again, but the words catch in his throat. You’ll be out of his life soon—not for good, but in a way that’ll tear the rest of his heart out, and he knows he won’t be able to fight it.
Then a tear drops down your cheek, and he can't stop himself. "If you hate this," he says softly, his thumbs brushing your knuckles subconsciously, "I won’t do it again."
You peer up at him, teardrops beading your waterline. He wipes your cheek gently. "What?"
"I won't go," he promises.
"Jack—"
"I mean it." The thought of seeing you cry breaks him. Not over him.
"Really?"
He can't say no when you look at him like that, like it means everything to you that he's safe. "Yeah," he says. "Really."
You stand there for a second, searching his face like you want to believe him, then something shifts in your face. You step back, drop his hands and wipe your face harshly.
You snap on a new pair of gloves and busy yourself with throwing out the supplies. "You don’t have to do that," you murmur. "I—I overreacted. You can do what you want."
Jack’s heart sinks, unsure what changed so suddenly. "You didn’t—"
"I did," you interrupt, a tiny laugh escaping you. "I just…" you trail off, letting the unfinished sentence hang in the air. Whatever it is, you swallow it down.
"You should get some sleep," you say quietly instead. "You have to be back in a few hours."
Jack opens his mouth, but you’re already turning away.
"I didn’t mean to—" he starts. He isn't sure what he means, just that he wants you to look at him again.
"It’s fine," you cut in too quickly. You leave him sitting on the bed, staring at the closed door.
The next day, Jack comes in early, shifting awkwardly in front of you until you look up from the computer.
"Uh," he says, rubbing the back of his neck. "You got a minute?"
You nod, instinctively looking at his shoulder. "Yeah?"
He gestures vaguely. "The dressing thing... It's kinda tricky one-handed."
You close the chart immediately. "Okay."
The exam room he leads you into seems to shrink, feeling even smaller with him standing there, his broad shoulders taking up space as he awkwardly settles onto the bed.
You stand in front of him with gloves on. "Take your shirt off," you say.
His mouth twitches. "You buying me dinner first?"
You raise an eyebrow at him.
He sighs. "Tough crowd." Slowly, he slips his shirt off.
You try not to stare and begin peeling back the dressing. The scrape looks better. You work in silence.
"How’s it look?" he asks eventually.
"Fine." You finish taping fresh gauze over the scrape. "You should still be careful," you say softly.
"I am careful."
You don't answer him.
He sighs. "…Careful-ish."
You almost smile. Almost.
"Thanks," he says quietly when you finish.
"No problem."
He lingers like he wants to say something. You do, too. Eventually, duty calls when rounds begin.
After that, you start looking at apartments like you'd promised. Stealing glances at listings between patients—careful not to let anyone else notice. Scrolling through options when sleep refuses to come. It gives your hands something to do when the house feels too quiet.
You try very hard not to think about how much you don't want to leave. You love this little house. You love sitting on the terrace, listening to the birds. You love curling up on the couch. You even love the coffee machine you can't figure out how to use.
For the first time, moving doesn’t feel impossible. Not with your new salary. It would be tight, sure. Painfully tight. Your student loans aren’t magically gone just because you graduated, but—
You could make it work.
A studio. A shitty kitchen. Questionable plumbing. Somewhere small. Somewhere yours. Somewhere that doesn’t make your chest ache. Jack would probably appreciate it if you left. Sooner rather than later. You wouldn’t blame him.
Ever since the shoulder thing, something had shifted again. Or maybe you had.
Because the embarrassment lingered. You’d panicked. Ran through the hospital like a crazy person because someone mentioned gunfire and Jack. Cried and acted like losing him would ruin you.
You’d scolded him like you were together. Like you had any claim over what he did with his life. And then he’d agreed too easily to stop. That somehow made it worse because obviously he’d just been trying to calm you down. Keep things easier and less awkward.
The sooner you could release him from his shackles, the better. Then he could live his life how he wanted.
One morning, you don’t hear him come home. You’re curled sideways on the couch, laptop balanced against your knees, rental listings spread across the screen. You barely register movement until a familiar hand sets a paper bag down beside you.
"Breakfast," Jack says.
You glance up too quickly and slam the laptop halfway shut, like you'd got caught doing something you shouldn't have been doing.
His eyes flick downward, catching the word lease. He stills, and something unreadable passes over his face. "Didn’t mean to interrupt," he says quietly, then he heads for the kitchen fast.
You stare after him, chest twisting.
"Hey, sweet cheeks," a familiar warm voice greets you as you round the corner.
You glance over, offering a tired smile. "Hi, Myrna. You doing okay?"
"Yeah," she says, raising her cuffed wrists slightly. "Better if you let me out of these."
"No can do," you say, already walking backwards toward the hub. "Sorry."
She lets out an exaggerated grumble that usually makes you laugh, but today, you simply rub the heels of your palms hard against your eyes. Sleep has been awful lately. Even worse than before. For weeks, the same haunting images replay in your mind: Jack bleeding, Jack unconscious, Jack upstairs, Jack—
You stop yourself before your brain can finish that thought. Because imagining what would’ve happened if he had been the one shot, if that shoulder graze had been just inches over—
"You okay, sweetie?" Dana asks, lifting her glasses to look at you more closely.
You immediately straighten and drop your hands. "Yeah, I'm fine," you say quickly. "Just tired."
Which isn’t technically a lie. You are tired. Exhausted, honestly. Still adjusting to attending life. Still trying to prove to the hospital that they didn't make a mistake when hiring you. Simultaneously cursing and praising them for keeping you on day shift a little bit longer.
"We’ll get through it," Dana says, mistaking your expression for stress about the overflowing waiting room and how you'd been running around all day, barely able to catch your breath.
You nod once. "Yeah."
But honestly? The day has been good—busy, but good. You caught a medication error that could have had serious consequences and handled a complex consult. You kept the board moving. The pace allowed you no time to think, and if you just pushed through another few hours, maybe you’d be tired enough not to dream tonight.
Suddenly, the ambulance bays swing open behind you. "Agitated on scene," Ziggler reports as they wheel a patient inside. "Had to give midazolam en route. Vitals stable, but he’s a big guy—took three of us to get him on the stretcher."
You step in beside them, nodding. "Any known head injury?"
"Not clear. Witnesses reported he fell before we got there. Could be alcohol involved."
You exhale slowly. "Okay." Turning, you catch Trinity's eye and nod for her to join you.
Ziggler adds, "No obvious trauma on primary survey," as you guide the stretcher into a room. The transfer goes smoothly—monitor hooked up, vitals steady, respirations normal.
As you step closer to the bedside, the patient stirs slightly. You watch Trinity adjust the pulse oximeter and check his pupils.
"His respiratory rate’s picking up," you note.
"The sedation should still hold," she states.
You don’t answer immediately. You’ve seen this before. "He’s coming up early," you say.
And then—
His eyes snap open. Not slowly or smoothly, but suddenly; confused and unfocused. His head turns slightly, and his breathing sharpens.
"Hey," Trinity says quickly, her voice calm. "You’re in the hospital. You’re safe."
The patient shifts too quickly, his upper body attempting to rise.
"Sir, don’t sit up yet," you say calmly.
Trinity moves in. "Hey—" she starts.
"Trinity, don’t—" you start to warn, but it’s too late. The patient surges forward, and you react without thinking, grabbing Trinity's arm and pulling her back.
This leaves you at an awkward angle, and his elbow strikes your side as he moves. A sharp, crushing pressure slams into your ribs, knocking the breath out of you mid-inhale.
You try to steady yourself with your hand on the railing, but your fingers slip, and your head catches the side of the bed. Everything dulls for half a second as you crumple to the ground, groaning.
Trinity’s voice slices through the chaos, calling out your name in concern. You can't respond. "Hula Hoop!" she screams. She moves back, trying not to further agitate the patient, keeping her eyes on him when all she wants to do is glance down at you.
Footsteps sound in the distance—fast, hurried. The room fills with more people, and you catch glimpses of arms securing the patient. You hear shouting, someone calling for more sedatives.
You attempt to sit up but instantly double over as pain flares in your side. Gentle hands reach down to assist you. It’s Dana. You blink hard, struggling to breathe.
"I'm okay," you manage to say, slowly standing. Dana keeps her hands on your arm the entire time, her brow furrowed with worry.
"I just got the wind knocked out of me," you say, lifting your head. Something drips down on your nose, and when you wipe it away, your fingers come back bloody.
"Mm," she mutters.
Robby appears beside her, panting. He scans you quickly, already assessing the situation, barely glancing at the chaos behind him. "What happened?" He grabs gauze and gives it to you. It stings when you press it against your forehead.
"She hit her side and her head," Trinity blurts out. "Hard." You shoot her a glare.
Robby shares a glance with Dana. "Okay," he says, replacing her touch on your elbow. "I've got you."
"I can walk," you say.
"Great," Robby says. "Walk to an exam room, then." He ignores your groan and guides you out the door into an empty room. "Sit."
"I'm fine," you mutter, taking in shallow breaths.
"Mm," he says while snapping on a pair of gloves. "Let me be the judge of that. Sit down." You listen this time.
He stops in front of you, his voice softening as he looks down at you. "What exactly happened?" He gently touches the edge of your wound, shifting your face around. The bleeding has slowed, and when he doesn't immediately do anything, it confirms that it's superficial.
"I'm fine."
He frowns, pulls out his flashlight, and begins checking your pupils.
"Patient woke up early," you sigh. "Too little sedation. He was confused." You shrug and regret it instantly. Pain flashes white-hot. You mask it.
"You get hit anywhere besides your ribs?"
You glare at him, knowing he already knows. Still, you indulge him. "My head."
"Did you black out?" He lifts his finger, and you follow it.
"No."
"Nausea? Dizziness?"
"No." You answer all of his questions and follow his orders, knowing it's the only way you can get out of this room.
He nods when he's satisfied with your neuro exam and then gestures at your scrub top. He pulls it up slowly. The bruise already blooming along your ribs looks ugly. Robby presses lightly on it, and you hiss despite yourself.
"That bad?"
"It’s not bad," you correct him, but he raises an eyebrow as if not buying it. He presses again, and when your breath catches painfully, you finally admit, "…It hurts."
He rolls his stool back. "Okay. I’m ordering you a CT and chest X-ray."
"Robby, no. I'm fine," you protest. "I just need a moment."
He doesn't answer you.
You try again. "Robby, we’re understaffed."
"You’re not going back on shift like this," he turns and types something into the computer. "Jack would kill me," he mumbles, mostly to himself, but you hear it all.
"Don't call him."
"What?"
"Don't call him. I'm fine," you say. "He doesn't need to worry."
"Too late," Robby says as he takes a seat again. "Dana already filled him in."
"What?" You close your eyes slowly. "Great."
Robby frowns as he begins preparing to clean the wound. "What's going on with you two?"
"Nothing," you retort sharply, then let out a sigh. "Really, nothing. I just don't want him to worry over nothing."
You don't want a lecture again. You don't want a reminder of what he thought of you the last time this happened.
You straighten again, looking at Robby hopefully, "Can I come back if things look fine?"
Robby exhales slowly. "Maybe."
The usual ten-minute drive to the hospital is cut to a reckless five when Jack receives the call from Dana.
You got hurt. That's all he needed to hear before he was up and out of the house. A patient hit you. You hurt your side and your head.
Dana hadn't sounded panicked, but head injuries could be serious. You could be bleeding internally while he was driving. While he wasn't there with you.
He parks haphazardly in front of the ambulance bay, not caring that he's blocking the entrance. He tosses the keys to Whitaker, who stands outside with his phone, then pushes through the door without waiting for a response—he ignores the dumb expression on Whitaker's face.
"Where is she?" he calls, the second he spots Dana.
"In there," she replies, pointing. She grabs his shoulder before he can take off. "Easy there, soldier; she’s okay."
Maybe so, but he needs to see it for himself before he’ll believe it. He flings the door open and finds you sitting on the edge of the bed. He quickly assesses you: one hand is bracing your side, your breathing is shallow, and you blink more slowly than usual. Your jaw is tight, brows furrowed, and there’s dried blood on your face.
His jaw tightens before he can stop it. He hears Robby start to explain—
"Possible rib injury, head strike, CT ordered—"
You cut him off. "I’m fine," you say, then look at Jack. "You can go home again."
His brows furrow. He knows what you're like when you're in pain—how you downplay it and try to hide it. He steps closer instead.
"I don’t need a CT," you insist, starting to rise.
Jack exhales. For some reason, you’re negotiating this like it’s optional. It isn’t. "Sit down." He keeps his voice steady. "No," he says as your mouth opens. "Sit down."
You scowl but sit after a second, your breath catching slightly. A flicker of pain crosses your face before you manage to mask it. It lasts barely a second, but he sees it.
His tone softens. "You’re going for a CT." He glances over at Robby. "I can take it from here."
"Jack—"
He doesn’t respond, just holds his gaze steady, and Robby steps back with a sigh. "The wound is superficial. Neuro exam is clear."
Jack nods, snaps on a pair of gloves and sits down. He’ll do his own assessment after cleaning you up.
"I'll come get you when it's your turn," Robby says, shutting the door softly behind him.
"So," Jack says, tilting your face to get a better look at the wound, "you come here often?"
You huff an annoyed breath, easing the tension in his chest. Annoyance is a good sign. "Very funny."
He continues to work in silence, cleaning the blood away, irrigating the wound, and closing the cut with a butterfly stitch. "This probably won’t leave a scar."
"Good. I was really worried about that," you mutter. "Don’t want my face to look like Scarface."
"Even if it did, you'll still be the prettiest woman in the E.D," he says with an exaggerated wink as he turns around to discard his gloves.
You huff another breath, but this time it's softer, less annoyed.
"Can I see?" he says softly, nodding at your side. You nod, and he pulls up the fabric slowly. His jaw tightens again, his fingers hovering just above the bruise before settling cautiously against your side.
"Jesus," he mutters quietly. He pulls the shirt down again after a moment.
You fiddle with the ends of it. "I didn’t do it on purpose," you say quietly.
"What?"
"I didn’t mean to get hit," you say, eyes fixed somewhere near his shoulder instead of at him.
"Hey." He waits until you look at him. "I know."
Your brows pinch together like you don’t believe him.
Jack exhales through his nose and drags the stool closer until he’s right in front of you. One hand settles carefully over your knee. "Sweetheart, I’m not angry at you. I'm—" scared. The word sits right there, lodged somewhere behind his teeth.
He looks away instead, jaw working once before he settles on, "I’m just glad you aren’t hurt badly."
You study him quietly.
"I just…" He glances down, shakes his head once. "Dana called and said you got hurt, and suddenly I’m thinking about head injuries and internal bleeding and all the shit that could be wrong before I even get here."
His voice stays steady, but only barely. "And then I walk in, and there’s blood on your face."
You look down at your hands. "I didn’t mean to scare you."
"I know, sweetheart." He waits until you glance back up. "I promise I'm not mad. Not at you."
You nod, looking like you accept his answer. He keeps your gaze for a moment, then stands and helps you settle more comfortably onto the bed.
As soon as Jack’s certain you’ll be fine alone, he storms out of the room to find Robby. Spotting him, Jack pulls him into the break room and struggles to steady his breathing.
"Jack—" Robby starts, already sensing where this conversation is headed.
Jack crosses his arms tightly, straining the fabric of his shirt. "She shouldn’t have been in there by herself."
"She wasn’t alone," Robby replies.
"You know what I mean." Jack's voice remains low but cutting, controlled in a way that shows he’s trying hard not to lose his cool. "She got hit hard enough that she needs a fucking CT scan."
Robby leans back against the counter, arms crossed. "Yeah," he says. "But she also pulled Santos out of the way before things turned worse."
Jack’s jaw clenches.
"Jack," Robby says softly now. "You’re scared."
"I'm pissed."
"No," Robby says simply. "You're scared, so you're pissed."
Jack looks away. Because yeah. Fine. Maybe.
Robby continues, "That doesn’t mean she stops being good at her job."
"I know she’s good at her job." That's not what this is about.
"Then trust her."
Jack doesn’t answer immediately. Because he does trust you. That’s the problem. You were good enough to run toward things that could hurt you. He knows you'll do it again.
Robby sighs, rubbing a hand over his face. "Look, if I thought she was being reckless, I’d speak up. If I thought she couldn’t handle herself, she wouldn’t be here right now." He pauses. "She made the right call. The patient surged. Santos froze. She did what you’d have done."
Something in his expression shifts despite himself. Jack exhales slowly, some of the tension bleeding out of his shoulders. "...I hate this job sometimes," he mutters.
Robby chuckles. "Join the club. We’ve got t-shirts if you’re interested."
That gets a faint laugh out of Jack.
Robby nudges his shoulder lightly. "Go check on her before she decides she’s medically cleared and sneaks back onto the shift."
Jack’s eyes narrow at the thought. It’s not a question; you would absolutely do that. He shakes his head and pushes away from the counter. "...Thanks," he mutters.
Jack stays with you through it all.
From the CT scan to the X-ray, and through the heavy silence in between, he never leaves your side. He positions himself just out of the technologists’ way but remains close enough to notice if you shift incorrectly. The only time he steps away is when he isn’t permitted to stay, and he’s quick to return the moment he can.
When you’re wheeled back into the ER bay, you insist on getting into the bed by yourself, but you can feel his hands hovering just behind you.
You shift wrong, and pain flashes through your side. "Fuck," you hiss quietly.
Jack’s there before you can even regain your balance. One hand rests on your waist, the other steadies your arm. "Easy."
You blink at him as he helps you settle in. His hand remains firm on your waist while the other supports your arm until you're fully seated. It’s only once you’re steady that he takes a small step back—still close enough to catch you if you sway.
And then there’s nothing to do but wait. That’s the worst part. Waiting gives you time to feel things you’ve been outrunning.
"I’m fine, Jack," you say again. "You can go home."
Jack doesn’t answer immediately. Just looks at you, not angry but also not convinced. Just… steady in a way that says he’s not participating in the argument.
Trinity appears at the edge of the curtain before either of you can speak again. She hesitates when she sees both of you. "I—I’m really sorry," she blurts out. "I didn’t think—he moved too fast and—"
You lift a hand slightly. "Hey, it’s fine," you say. "You couldn't have known."
Trinity still looks like she might combust from guilt. Her eyes flick to Jack, then back to you, unsure where to land. "I can—do you need anything? I can stay—"
"No," Jack interjects immediately.
Trinity blinks at him.
He continues, quieter but still firm: "You’ve done enough. She needs rest."
Trinity hesitates one second longer, then nods quickly. "Okay. Okay, yeah. Sorry again." She slips out, letting the curtain fall back into place.
"You didn't have to be that harsh," you murmur.
"You got hurt because of her. She needs to know that," he says.
You sigh. "It was an accident. She couldn't have known what would've happened."
"Maybe," he says, leaning back in the chair with his arms crossed. He sighs after a second, "These chairs suck."
You snort, wincing slightly. "Well, what did you expect? If the hospital can't afford more nurses, we're not getting the good chairs."
He huffs. "Still."
Jack calls out from his night shift. You tell him three separate times that he doesn’t have to. He ignores you all three times.
By the time you're discharged, he's there, clearly settled in for the long haul. And as you walk into the house, he keeps one hand on your elbow, as if afraid that if he lets go, you might just collapse.
"I can walk," you grunt for the fourth time.
"Congrats," he says flatly, still not dropping his hand.
You roll your eyes but don’t pull away. Mostly because your ribs feel like they’re trying to murder you. Also because—
Well. His hand is comforting.
Inside, he hovers like a worried shadow. He guides you to his room and then to the closet for a change of clothes. When you mention wanting to shower, he frowns. He glances at the door and then back at you.
"I won't lock the door," you assure him with a sigh.
He nods, exhaling reluctantly. "I'll be right outside. Just yell if you need anything."
You raise an eyebrow. "It's just a shower."
His expression remains serious. Before you can say anything else, he rummages through his closet and emerges with one of his button-up shirts. "You can’t lift your arms properly," he points out, awkwardly holding it out. "This is easier."
You look at the shirt, then back at him. You have your own shirts, but you take it anyway. "…Thanks."
He shrugs in response.
The shower sucks. Everything hurts. Washing your hair hurts. Breathing hurts. Existence hurts. By the time you’re done, your head is throbbing again. It's not a concussion. Robby had been annoyingly clear. You got lucky. No concussion, no fractures, no internal bleeding. Just bruised ribs and a nasty bump on the head. You don't feel particularly lucky.
Jack fusses the second you emerge. He follows you to the dining room table, makes you food, and then proceeds to stare until you eat it. After a few painful bites, he helps you stand, his hand finding your elbow again. You don’t mention that you’re perfectly capable of standing on your own this time.
He starts steering you down the hallway toward his room.
You stop. "What are you doing?"
"You can sleep in my bed."
"What?"
"It’s better for your ribs."
You frown. "My bed is fine, Jack."
"Mine is firmer," he says immediately.
You stare. He's right. Your mattress is softer, cheaper, but perfectly fine under normal circumstances. Less ideal when every breath feels like a knife.
Still, you hesitate. "That’s really not necessary."
Jack exhales slowly, visibly trying not to argue. "There’s also more space."
You blink.
"For pillows," he adds hastily. "You’ll probably need to stay propped up. Plus, you hit your head, and I need to keep an eye on you."
You narrow your eyes. "I don’t have a concussion."
"You still have a head injury."
"It’s minor," you say, crossing your arms, only to regret it as pain flares up. You uncross them gingerly. Jack notices but stays quiet.
"You shouldn’t be alone tonight," he says, quieter now.
You look away first. "…I’ll be okay."
"I know," he says softly. "I just wanna keep an eye on you."
Something in your chest aches worse than your ribs because he sounds so careful, so concerned. You shake your head and slowly turn toward your room, hoping he’ll let you go. "I’ll be fine."
Jack doesn’t argue, which somehow feels worse. You take three steps before hearing movement behind you. He returns from the dining room, carrying a chair.
"What are you doing?"
He shrugs. "If you’re sleeping in there, I’m staying in there."
"Jack," you protest.
"What?"
"Your back’s gonna hurt."
He shrugs again and pushes your door open with his shoulder. "I’ll survive. I've slept on worse things." He sets the chair down beside your bed and sits down, like that’s the end of the discussion.
You stare at him from the doorway. At the chair. At him sitting there with crossed arms waiting for you. He means it—he’ll stay there if necessary, on that hard chair rather than crossing any lines by sharing your smaller bed. It's gone too far echoes in your head, but the image of him sitting there all night for you is too much. You're too tired, too sore, to keep this going.
With a long, exhausted sigh, you finally relent. "…Fine."
Jack looks up.
Avoiding his gaze, you mumble, "Your room... I’ll sleep in your room."
His expression softens in an instant—too quickly, almost as if he had been trying hard not to hope you’d agree. "Okay," he says quietly. Then, gentler, "C’mon."
And when his hand brushes lightly against your back as he helps you toward his room, you don’t move away. He helps you get into bed, positioning the pillow so you hurt the least amount. There’s a glass of water and some painkillers on the bedside table. His fingers brush back your hair, and you lean into his touch before you can stop yourself. For a moment, both of you freeze.
He steps back first. "I'll be right back."
You can hear him rummage around, and then he enters with the chair in his arms again.
"…Jack."
He sets it beside the bed and angles it towards you. Then he sits again, arms crossed.
You stare at him. "What are you doing?"
He frowns like the answer should be obvious. "Looking after you."
"No," you say slowly. "Why are you sitting there?" The whole idea of sleeping here was so he wouldn't stay in that chair.
He shrugs. "You’re hurt," he adds. "It's better if I—." He nods down at the chair, like that explains everything.
You exhale slowly and pat the mattress beside you. "C’mon. I didn’t mean to take your bed from you."
He hesitates, which somehow stings more than the chair itself.
You try to hide your hurt with humour. "Okay, well, I guess this way, there’s more distance from your snoring."
Jack just shakes his head at you. He lasts maybe forty minutes in the chair before you wake in pain, attempting to turn and failing without hissing.
Before either of you thinks about it too hard, he's helping reposition the pillows, one hand braced carefully at your ribs. It's easier for his leg to crawl onto the other side of the bed, and he stays there waiting until you fall back to sleep. He doesn't even realise when he falls asleep half on top of the blankets.
Jack checks on you constantly during that first night. He’s alert every time you shift, every breath that seems off, and even the tiniest sounds. The moment you move, he’s awake.
You don't say anything when you see that he's moved to the bed, and he doesn't either. But he keeps his distance, lying rigidly on the far edge of the mattress like touching you might somehow make things worse. Somewhere during the night, still half-asleep and in pain, you inadvertently shift closer. When you awaken again, you find his hand loosely wrapped around yours. The second he realises you're awake, he instantly lets go.
"Sorry," he murmurs quietly.
You don't answer. You just close your eyes again, a different ache settling in your chest.
The second night, you're not sure why you wake up. There’s a blanket tucked around your shoulders. Jack’s still asleep with one arm stretched awkwardly toward your side of the bed like he’d fixed it without waking properly.
By the end of the first week, things have shifted. You stop waking every time you move wrong. Breathing no longer feels like punishment, and turning in bed has become more uncomfortable than impossible. Sometime during that first week, Jack quietly stopped pretending the chair was still an option.
Somewhere along the way, the physical distance between you also disappeared. Sometimes you'd wake to find yourself closer than you remembered falling asleep—your shoulder brushing his chest, one of his hands loosely curled near your waist like he'd reached for you in his sleep and stopped halfway.
For the first time in weeks, despite the pain, you sleep. No nightmares. No gunfire. No waking up imagining Jack bleeding out somewhere you can’t reach. Because with him there—warm, solid, and close—your brain finally quiets down.
You tell yourself it’s practical. His mattress really is better. Firmer. Easier to breathe on. Less painful to get up from. You tell yourself that staying another night makes sense. Then another. Then somehow—
Another week passes. And you’re still there. By then, you don’t technically need help anymore. Breathing feels almost normal, and the bump on your head is gone.
You could return to your room—probably should. But every night seems to end the same way: you drifting closer in your sleep, Jack pulling you in without thinking, one arm heavy around your waist, your face nestled against his chest.
You tell yourself it’s just because moving hurts. Because untangling yourself would disturb him. Because his room is colder. Because—
You stop examining it too closely. It’s easier that way because you know what you're doing is only gonna hurt you in the end. It almost starts feeling normal again, and with every little thing, you catch yourself hoping. Then you remember the hallway.
I should’ve never agreed to this.
The hope curdles again.
Going back to work takes another week.
Jack hates it, insisting that it's too early and that you should take another week off. Eventually, he relents since you'll be back on night shifts—with him. You assure him you’ll stick to light duty: no lifting, no trauma rooms unless absolutely necessary. You listen—mostly—trying to let your residents take charge whenever possible.
You're still hurting, and maybe you should’ve taken a few more days off, but that's not the worst part. That's how normal everything has started feeling again. The heating pad after shifts. Coffee waiting while you chart. Pain medication offered before you even remember it's time for it. Parker and Shen grinning whenever they see the two of you together.
It should’ve felt reassuring. Instead, some days it made you want to scream. Because none of it made sense anymore. Not after the kiss. Not after the hallway.
The longer it goes on, the harder it becomes to ignore that eventually something will have to give. You needed to move back to your own bed. Look at apartment listings again. Print out the divorce papers.
One morning after rounds, Robby lingers like he’s debating something. "Hey," he says. "You two got a second?"
"No," Jack says flatly.
Robby ignores him. He herds both of you toward a quieter corner near the supply room. You lean back against the wall automatically, careful of your ribs, relieving the dull ache after twelve hours of work. Jack's hand lifts like he wants to steady you, but he drops it again after a second.
Robby notices but says nothing. Just pinches his brows together and hopes that what he's doing won't backfire. "There’s a convention in Cleveland this weekend," he says carefully.
You groan immediately.
Jack blows out a frustrated breath. "Why do I feel like this is about to become my problem?"
"Because it is," Robby admits, wincing slightly.
"Seriously?" you sigh.
Jack exhales through his nose. "Fine. I’ll do it."
You turn toward him instantly. "What? No. You have the weekend off."
"You’re still recovering," he counters.
"I’m fine."
Jack shoots you an unimpressed look. "You’re leaning against a wall right now."
Before you can argue further, Robby clears his throat, looking surprisingly guilty. "Actually…"
Both of you turn to look at him.
"It’s a two-person thing."
Silence hangs in the air.
"…Oh," you say slowly.
Robby immediately starts retreating before either of you can object. "Thanks, guys," he says quickly. "I owe you one."
"Robby—" you start, but it’s too late. He steps around the corner fast.
You let out a sigh, and Jack follows suit.
"Well," he says after a second. "Looks like we’re going to Cleveland." He doesn't sound particularly happy about it.
You aren't exactly thrilled about it either. Hours trapped in a car. A convention neither of you cares about. He could have gotten a weekend to himself, but now, instead, he was stuck with you.
He sighs, then says, "I'll bring the car round."
You nod. "Okay."
There’s a beat where neither of you moves. Jack shifts his weight like he’s about to say something else, then doesn’t. Instead, he just gives a short nod and turns away.
a/n: ahhh almost there!! and we finally get trouble's injury scene that i have had planned since the start. a few of you have suggested it as well and i've just been waiting in excitement for it!! :DD
Chapter Seven <- Chapter Eight -> Chapter Nine {WIP}
AN: Welcome to Chapter Eight! Not much to say! There might not be as many updates for the next week or so; real life likes to beat me up. Enjoy!
I glared at nothing. Two hours locked up and I was already losing my mind—just waiting for whoever this ‘Iron Sky’ clown was to come claim us. We were cuffed up, someone had a hold of my queue, and the only thing to do was stand and stew. Eclipse started fast tonight, and honestly, I was glad for it. At least the glowing rain gave me something to look at other than Anders’ ugly mug.
Of course, that peace didn’t last. I grunted when Anders gave my queue a nasty squeeze, pain shooting straight up my spine. He laughed, like he thought he was hilarious. Not distracting enough, buddy. I wanted to throat punch him so bad. Honestly, I’d rather have the Colonel breathing down my neck than this creep.
And then it started: “Back at TAP”—oh, spare me. Here we fucking go. “I never knew just how sensitive—” he tugged again, “—these were.” I bit my tongue, refusing to flinch or snarl. That’s what this perv wanted. I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to tune him out, focus on anything else. At least he was keeping his gross comments quiet enough for Tuk not to hear. Small mercies, I guess.
A sharp yip made my head snap up. None of the Avatars flinched—clueless, every last one of them. Seriously, these guys had no idea what was about to hit them. If you didn’t grow up around the Sullys, that yip probably sounded like some random animal noise out of Pandora’s greatest hits. But if you did? That sound meant one thing: Neytiri was close.
I caught Tuk’s eye across the way—she was already watching me, brave little thing. I blinked at her, trying to make my nod as subtle as possible. We’d done this dance before, and she knew the cue. Behind us, I could hear Kiri muttering under her breath, probably working up some prayer or curse or both. The Avatar holding her gave her queue a nasty jerk, making her yelp. Bastard.
And then all hell broke loose. Out of nowhere, a yellow-and-green-tipped arrow whistled out of the trees and just—bam!—buried itself straight in the guy’s temple. Chaos. Pure, beautiful chaos. “Contact rear!” the Colonel barked, and suddenly every Avatar without a hostage was losing their mind, spraying bullets in every direction but the right one.
Somewhere in the mess, I heard Neytiri shout, “Lo’ak!”—like she already knew what came next. Lo’ak didn’t miss a beat; he reached up, yanked a couple of pins on the vest of the Avatar holding him, and then—boom—green smoke everywhere. Burned my nose like crazy. My heart sank, Yava.
Through the haze, I watched Lo’ak and Tuk both go savage, biting down on their captors. About damn time. I spun, grabbed Anders’ hand before he could react, and sank my teeth in, hard. He howled. Felt good. When he tried to pull away, I only bit down harder. He screamed as blood filled my mouth. With a shake of my head, I was free, and he was missing a pinkie. He howled and roared in pain as I took off behind Lo’ak and Tuk.
“Go, go, go!” I wheezed, adrenaline making my words come out half-shouted, half-gasped. Tuk glanced over her shoulder, eyes wide, trying to see if anyone was on our tail. “Don’t stop! Just run!” My heart was pounding so hard I could barely hear myself think. Lo’ak was up ahead, just booking it, no plan, just pure panic-fuel. Didn’t matter where we were going—anywhere but here.
Everything was a blur of noise and chaos. Bullets hammered the trees behind us, making the air crack and sizzle. Leaves exploded, bark flying everywhere. My lungs burned, legs screaming, but we couldn’t stop. Not now. Tuk let out a scream as gunfire cracked right over our heads, ducking low and almost tripping. I grabbed her arm with my cuffed hands—“No, don’t! Keep running, Tuk!” I was yelling, desperate, dragging her along as we crashed through mud and roots and the mess of the jungle. We’d figure out directions later. Right now, it was pure survival, and the whole world was on fire behind us.
We screamed as a tall blue figure pushed through the bushes. Heart pounding, I pulled Tuk behind me and hissed, startled. It took me a moment to realise who it was; he looked at me like I was the crazy one. “Whoa, whoa, whoa, it's okay.” He raised his hands to show he wasn't a threat, and we all calmed down.
“Dad” Lo’ak breathed panting to catch his breath. The coolness of the night made his breath come out in smoke
“Jesus, Jake”, I let out a breath I was holding. I let Tuk go, and she immediately ran for him.
“Daddy!” she cried, nuzzling herself into his neck. He wrapped his arms around her. He didn’t even hesitate, rocking back and forth, gently rubbing her back.
“Shh, Tuk tuk shh,” he cooed, hoping to ease her panic. He pulled away and started to uncuff the links, tossing the orange bands back the way we came, hoping to throw off anybody who might be chasing us. Tuk clung to her father’s leg as he unlinked Lo’ak’s cuffs. My heart was still pounding, and I kept glancing over my shoulder, half-expecting someone else to jump out at us.
The whole thing felt totally unreal, like we were stuck in a crazy dream that just wouldn’t end. My head snapped up as another body ran through the brush—nearly scared the life out of me—but I relaxed as soon as I saw who it was. My shoulders dropped, the tension melting away for a second.
“Nete,” I called out, my voice coming out all weak and shaky. The second he heard me, his whole face changed. He whipped around, pushing past his brother and father almost desperately, and rushed straight to me. His hands were trembling as he cupped my cheek—warm, gentle. For a second, his thumb lingered, tracing my jaw, like he was making sure I was really there. His eyes searched mine, full of worry. He let out a shaky breath of his own, then looked down and started fumbling with the restraints around my wrists, his fingers clumsy, rushing.
“Pasuk, what happened?” he asked, his voice soft but desperate. That was it for me—all the emotions I’d been holding onto just came crashing down. I shook my head, not even sure where to start, and he pulled me closer, his hands gently cradling my face, his thumbs carefully wiping away the blood that stained my mouth and the tears. His forehead pressed to mine for just a second. My eyes filled up, and before I knew it, a quiet sob slipped out. He didn’t flinch or pull away—he just held me tighter. It was like everything finally hit me at once, and I let myself fall apart. He sighed before pulling me in close, just holding me to him.
I leaned back against Neteyam, totally wiped out—like, I honestly felt one step away from just dropping right there. But having him there, so close, was like this little anchor I could hold onto. Once everyone was checked over, we all piled onto our Ikrans and headed back to high camp. Neteyam’s free hand slid around me, pulling me in tighter, like he was making sure I didn’t just fall off mid-flight. I could feel his heartbeat against my back, steady and reassuring, and it made everything feel just a little less scary.
“Not too long now, Pasuk, just hang in there, okay? Keep your eyes open for me,” he said, following his parents’ flightpath. I just hummed in response, nodding half-heartedly. I was so out of it, but hearing his voice made it easier to hang on.
“Sorry,” I mumbled, barely able to keep my eyes open. Today had been way, way too much. I just wanted to crawl into my hammock and sleep for a week straight. Neteyam just squeezed me a little tighter and shot me this soft, crooked half-smile before turning his focus back to flying. His hand lingered on my side, thumb tracing gentle circles. It was like he knew exactly what I needed without me even saying.
When we finally got back to high camp, it was pretty quiet—just a couple of people wandering around, mostly night patrol and the usual scouts. Jake jumped off his Ikran first, helping Lo’ak down, and then turned to Neytiri and the girls. Everything felt a little blurry, like I was half-dreaming.
"{Y/N}," Lo’ak said—somehow he was suddenly right next to me, even though I could’ve sworn he’d just been with Jake a second ago. I grabbed onto his outstretched hands as he helped me down from Temek, my legs so shaky I almost face-planted. Neteyam was right there, steady hand on my back, making sure I didn’t just topple over. He was hovering close, like he couldn’t decide whether to help or just hold me. Everything around me was buzzing and weirdly quiet at the same time, and I felt like I could just pass out on the spot. Then, this big, warm hand cupped my cheek—oh man, that felt good. I leaned into the touch, letting myself soak up the comfort.
“Neteyam, take her to her kelku. She needs to rest,” Jake said, his voice cutting through the haze in my brain. I tried to shake my head and push away from Neteyam, not really wanting to be fussed over, but honestly, I don’t think I could’ve walked more than two steps by myself. Neteyam didn’t say anything, just slipped his arm around my waist.
“Jake, I’m fine, really,” I tried to say, but the words came out all slurred and weird. Turns out, only getting an hour’s sleep between a raid and almost getting kidnapped will do that to you. I was so tired I could barely string a sentence together.
“No you’re not, just go and rest, alright? I’ll come over in a bit, I promise.” Jake nodded to Neteyam, who didn’t even hesitate—he just took my arm and started leading me toward my kelku like it was the most natural thing in the world. Neytiri reached out and ruffled the top of my head as we passed; I caught her and Jake exchanging one of those looks, definitely not their usual date-night vibe, more like a ‘we need to talk’ parent kind of thing. Neteyam nudged me gently, like he knew I was about to get distracted.
“I can walk, Nete,” I grumbled, but honestly, I was glad he was there. The second we stepped inside my kelku, and I saw my furs and hammock, I nearly burst into tears—sleep was calling my name. Neteyam just hummed, making sure the flap was shut behind us, all casual but also like he was guarding the place.
“Doesn’t mean I can’t help,” he said, turning around, his eyes crinkling at the corners from holding back a laugh. The sight of me, flopping around, made him grin, but instead of teasing, he just stepped closer, hands gentle and steady as he caught me by the waist, lifting me up like I weighed nothing. For a split second, we were ridiculously close—his breath warm on my cheek, his fingers lingering. “Here you go,” he murmured, voice so soft I almost missed it. I let out a groan that probably should’ve embarrassed me, but Neteyam just grinned. That playful look in his eyes faded as soon as I managed to look at him, though, and he got all serious and soft. “Pasuk, what happened?”
I sighed, not wanting to go there, not wanting to think about any of it. “He was there,” I managed to say, my voice small.
“Who?” Neteyam asked, gently brushing stray hairs from my face. I made a mental note to ask Neytiri to redo my braids when she had time.
“Anders. The fucking perv from TAP. He was there.” I squeezed my eyes shut, wishing I could just erase the memory. “He had me, Nete, just like he wanted.”
There was a long, heavy silence before Neteyam responded. “No. You fought him; he didn’t touch you.” He used his thumb to gently rub my cheek, tracing the lines of my mark like he was memorising them. “You fought, and you won. He’s got the wounds to prove it.”
I swallowed hard, voice shaky. “They know I’m here, Nete.”
He shook his head, trying to calm me down, but I just shook mine right back. “And they know my family is here. They don’t know where high camp is—”
“But they know I’m here, not in the west with the others.”
Neteyam got really quiet. “Are you scared because you don’t have your family?” he asked, voice all soft, like he was worried I’d freak if he pushed too hard. I just nodded, not trusting myself to talk. “Ma’Pasuk, nothing will happen to you. You’re under my family’s protection, you’re one of us.” His thumb kept brushing my cheek.
I leaned into his touch, my eyelids getting way too heavy, but I could still feel the warmth of his hand, grounding me. He just chuckled softly, brushing his thumb over my cheek again—so gentle it almost hurt—and leaned in to press his forehead to mine. “Sleep, ma’pasuk. I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere.”
“Sit still,” Neytiri grumbled, and I winced as she tugged a little too hard on the bit she was working on. I’d only just woken up, had to literally step over Neteyam, who was passed out on the mat next to my hammock—guess he never left last night- and sort of stumbled to the Sully kelku. I asked Neytiri to help with my hair, and she gave me that look, the one that’s half judgment, half affection, before just shoving me onto the floor and starting over from scratch.
“Ow,” I muttered as she gave another hard yank. She just grunted and tapped me on the top of the head like I was a misbehaving kid. Jake was in the background, rummaging through some bags and laughing at the whole scene.
“Whoever braided your hair didn’t do a good job,” Neytiri said, and I could totally hear the smirk in her voice. She tied off the braid with a little extra flair, like she was showing off her skills.
“I did it,” I mumbled, cheeks heating up. She laughed and gave the new section a little tug, totally teasing me.
“Do better”
“It was hard to see—Neteyam swore they were done!” I tried to defend myself. Jake laughed even harder, coming over to sit in front of me and tapping my knee like he was in on the joke.
“And you trusted him?” he asked, setting down a bowl full of yellow and orange berries. Naturally, I reached for one, and of course, he smacked my hand away like I was a little kid. Rude.
“Yes?” I said without even thinking, going right back for the berries. We ended up having this mini smackdown, hands swatting each other as we tried not to laugh.
“The boy still has Neytiri doing his hair at his age,” Jake teased, making me snort. Neytiri just huffed and shook her head, but I could tell she secretly loved fussing over him—and, honestly, so did I.
“He is just as useless,” Neytiri grumbled, but there was a tiny smile on her lips. “I was doing my own hair at Kiri’s age.”
“No fair, I had a disadvantage,” I said, craning my neck to look up at her. She just rolled her eyes and gently turned my head back toward Jake.
“Your Sempul should have taught you—bead,” she said, holding out her hand and wiggling her fingers impatiently. I huffed and handed her a blue and purple bead that the Aranahe made me, trying not to smile at how bossy she was.
“To be fair, So’lek only had two braids,” I said, grinning as I reached for another berry—this time managing to snag one before Jake could stop me.
“Kid, we need to talk.” And just like that, with one sentence, all the fun got sucked out of the room. Vibe killer, thanks, Jake.
“Hate that,” I muttered, flopping back against Neytiri’s legs, making sure she knew exactly how much I was not here for a Serious Talk.
“We’re leaving.” My eyebrows shot up. From the way Neytiri yanked on my new braid, she clearly wasn’t a fan of this plan either.
“Ow!” I hissed, shooting her a look. “Wait, what do you mean you’re leaving? Like, actually leaving?”
“It’s not safe for us here. The RDA’s coming after us—they won’t stop until we’re dead… The others will look out for you, Mo’at and Tarsem will keep you safe.” Was this man actually insane? I leaned forward a bit, giving him the best ‘bitch are you serious right now?’ look I could manage.
“Whoa, whoa, hang on. Jake, I’m coming with you.” He just raised an eyebrow at me, totally unimpressed, and shook his head.
“Kid, you can’t.” He got that look like he was about to start one of those long-winded speeches that could put even a saint to sleep, so I jumped in before he could get going.
“Jake, they’re after me.” I wasn’t about to let him sidestep that.
“I know, but—” he started, but I cut him off again, not about to let him win this argument.
“No, Jake, they know I’m here with the Omatikaya.” This time, Neytiri stopped mid-braid and tugged my head back so I was staring up at her, totally upside down. Honestly, not my favourite angle.
“How?” she asked, her eyes narrowing like she already had a bad feeling.
“Anders.” Just saying that creep’s name made Neytiri’s nose wrinkle in disgust.
“The creep?” Jake said, his voice way softer than usual.
“He’s one of the Avatars. Bridgehead knows I’m here,” I explained, glancing between Jake and Neytiri to see if any of this was sinking in. “If I stay, people are still in danger. I can’t go back home—RDA’s got the west locked down for months. Let me come with you. Please.”
“Are you sure?” Jake finally asked, taking his sweet time.
“I am,” I said, trying to sound braver than I actually felt.
“We leave in the morning.” And, just like that, it was decided. No more arguing. Tomorrow, everything changes—again.
“Do you have everything?” Neteyam’s voice was right behind me, and I swear I could feel his hand land on my shoulder before he even got close. His fingers squeezed just a little, like he needed to reassure himself I was still there. I rolled my eyes, giving him a look. The Skxawng had asked me, like, a million times already—and yeah, it was annoying, but it was also kinda sweet.
“Neteyam, for the eighth time—yes,” I sighed, then quickly caught Tuk by the shoulder before she could zoom off again. “Tuk, sweetheart, do you have everything?” She nodded, face all serious, which honestly made me want to squish her.
“Yes—oh wait!” she gasped, then immediately took off running. Probably going to see her grandmother for the tenth time this morning. That kid was a tornado on tiny feet.
“Two minutes, Tuk! Kiri—” I called after her, then turned to Kiri, who’d been moping around ever since Spider got snatched. He was taken the same night we were held hostage—literally the whole reason we’re even leaving. If the RDA managed to squeeze the location out of him, it was game over for us.
“I have everything,” she muttered, not meeting my eyes. I nodded, trying to think of a way—any way—to cheer her up. Gently, I brushed my fingers over her cloak, hoping a little bit of attention might help.
“Did you just make this?” I asked, and a soft smile actually broke through her sulking as she lifted the cloak for me to see. Finally, a tiny win.
“Yeah, actually—A’vuna and I made it the other night.” I grinned, checking out the weaving. It was gorgeous, honestly.
“It’s so pretty. You’ll have to show me how you weaved it—wait, is it changing colours? That’s so cool.” I rubbed the fabric, watching it shift under the artificial light, totally mesmerised.
“Pasuk, Kiri, please,” Neteyam groaned from across the way, fiddling with the bag strapped to Temek. The guy sounded ready to lose his mind.
“Girls always chattering,” Lo’ak teased, swaggering past with an armful of bows. He said it like he wasn’t the loudest one in the family.
“Shut up, Lo’ak,” I shot back, rolling my eyes. Then I stomped over to Neteyam, who was being stubborn about putting on his hide cloak. I grumbled as I redid the button near his neck, giving him my best unimpressed face. “You’d freeze without me, you know that?” I muttered, fingers brushing against his skin for a second longer than necessary.
“Just because no one wanted to hear you talk about your knife again,” Kiri shot back, giving him a gentle shove. There she was—the old Kiri, even if just for a second. It made me smile.
“It’s a cool knife!” Lo’ak grumbled, clutching it like it was his firstborn.
“Uh-huh,” Kiri said, totally mocking him as she climbed onto her Ikran.
“Tuk, you have everything now?” I called, as Tuk whizzed past us again. Neteyam stepped over, adjusting my rider’s visor with this little hum, tilting it left until he was satisfied.
“Yes!” she shouted, launching herself at Neytiri and clinging on for dear life. Poor Neytiri looked like she was two seconds from bursting into tears.
“Okay, Ikrans loaded up?” Jake called, double-checking his own gear for the millionth time.
“Secure,” I replied, nodding at Neteyam. Then I wandered over to Ninum, who looked at me like she wanted to take my hand off and use it as a chew toy. I felt kinda bad—I’d promised her no more long flights, but here we were, about to do another 300 miles. If we didn’t stop, we’d make it in about ten hours. Give or take. No big deal, right?
“Everyone ready?” Jake asked, his voice all thick and wobbly with emotion. We all climbed onto our Ikrans—formation as usual: Jake up front, Neytiri with Tuk behind him, Kiri and Lo’ak in the middle, and me and Neteyam pulling up the rear. There was this chorus of "yeahs" and "let’s go" before Jake took one last look at high camp. Then he took off, leading the way for Uturu. Just like that, we were leaving everything behind. Again.
My back ached—eleven hours on an Ikran will do that to you. We’d stopped a bunch of times—Tuk’s bathroom breaks, Kiri needing to stretch, the Ikran acting all dramatic and needing a breather. If we were lucky, we’d get to wherever Jake was leading us before sunrise. Since we left in the middle of the afternoon, we’d been flying through the eclipse, which looked cool but honestly just made me more tired. Every now and then, I’d glance at Neteyam. He’d been quiet almost the whole flight. This had to be rough on him.
Ever since his dad ‘died’ and Tarsem was chosen as the new Olo’eyktan, everything Neteyam had trained for basically vanished. He could just be himself now—if he even knew what that meant. I kept sneaking looks at him, wondering if he was okay. He caught me after a while, tilting his head all cute like, ‘You good?’ I just shook my head and tried to act like I hadn’t been wondering if he even knew who he was, but he smiled and nudged Temek closer to tease Ninum, trying to lighten the mood. Leave it to Neteyam to go from brooding to goofy in two seconds flat to make someone else smile.
Jake looked back and gave us a look, and of course, Neteyam immediately bowed his head, while I just stuck my tongue out. Old grump. But then my eyes got huge—because, seriously, the view behind him was insane. There was this mountain that looked like it actually touched the clouds, and a reef cut off from the deep ocean by these giant roots, like something out of a dream. I’d never seen anything like it. We flew over these wild tide pools, and the reef people standing in them started yipping and waving when they saw us.
I couldn’t stop grinning like an idiot as we headed toward what must be the main village. All the Kelku’s and walkways were woven right into the roots of these massive sea trees. I’m pretty sure Jake told me the place was called Awa’altu or something like that. Whatever it was, it was gorgeous. We banked to the right, aiming for the beach to land, but of course Nimun decided she hated sand and just plopped down in the water instead. Typical.
“Aw, Nimun, come on,” I whined, eyeing my very soggy landing spot. Meanwhile, Jake was off in his own world, quietly telling Neytiri to leave her bow behind. I felt Neteyam’s hand instantly on my arm, steadying me as I tried not to faceplant into the water. “Thanks, Nete,” I said, flashing him a quick smile. He just nodded, but I could tell he was on edge—his grip was a little tighter than usual, and his eyes kept darting between his siblings like he was ready to jump to any one of them in a second.
I bumped his shoulder gently, catching his eye and giving him a look that was just for him.“Nete,” I said, my voice soft, and I changed his grip so we were holding hands instead. He squeezed my hand—tight, like he needed the reassurance as much as I did. We started following after Jake, sticking close to both Lo’ak and Kiri, but Neteyam stayed right by my side, never letting go.“There’s no need to be so tense,” I teased, leaning into him just a bit as we walked. “Welcome this with open arms.”
The closer we got to the clan, the closer they got to us. The Sully family were tense; Jake's arms were up in a show of ‘hey, we were not here to harm’. It was like they had never met a new clan before. Tamtey would have just sauntered up to the closet person and asked to see the Tsahik or the Oloeyktan, all smiles and promises, then boom in a second, we’d be welcomed into the clan. Two boys around my age pushed through the clan. The one leading the charge was slightly decorated, much like Neteyam would be; he was important. Of course, the Sully boys, being raised correctly, motioned ‘I see you’, and when the other two didnt return, they looked shocked. I couldn't help but look them up and down, Who raised you?’ as they rounded us, the younger looking one pointed to our tails.
“Is that supposed to be a tail?” one of them snorted, which—seriously? Rude. I shot the boys my best death glare and squeezed Neteyam’s hand so tight he actually glanced over, eyebrow raised. “It’s too small, how are they supposed to swim?” the other guy chimed in, like we weren’t standing right there.
I leaned into Neteyam, muttering under my breath, “Remind me again why we’re even trying to impress these guys?”
Neteyam gave my hand a reassuring squeeze, his thumb tracing lazy circles over my skin—a tiny, secret comfort only I got from him. “Because we’re guests, remember?” he whispered back, his voice just for me, lips brushing my ear. Even with everything going on, he was still my favourite person to stand awkwardly next to.
The tension in my shoulders eased a little, just from that tiny bit of contact. He always knew exactly what to do to calm me down—even if it was just being there, holding my hand like it was no big deal.
“Do not, Rotxo, Ao’nung” A Na’vi girl around Lo’ak’s age appeared and snatched Rotxo’s arm away. She was pretty. I couldn't help but smile at her. A booming call made us duck as a creature I had never seen before launched above us. When it landed again, a very large Na’vi casually slid off the beast and began to approach us. You'd have to be dumb not to recognise that he was the Oloeyktan of these people, by instinct I straightened up.
“I see you, Tonowari”, Jake spoke proudly as he gestured to him. The Oloeyktan gestured back, and we all followed suit. The people naturally parted as the one who looked to be the Tsahik walked through the crowd. I looked away from her gaze as she swept over us “I see you, Ronal, Tsahik of the Metkayina” We all followed Jake’s gesture, yet she didnt return it. Ah, I see who her son is now.
“Why do you come to us, Jakesully?” Tonowari asked, looking over Jake, his ears flattened.
“We seek Uturu”, Jake spoke loudly, gesturing to us.
“Uturu?” Ronal asked with a tilt of her head
“Yes, sanctuary for my family and for the Sarentu” As if she knew exactly which one of us was the Sarentu, her gaze snapped to mine, her eyes finding my mark like heat-seeking missiles.
“We are reef people, you are forest people. Your kills will mean nothing here,” Ronal moved from her husband’s side, circling us like a Palulukan on the hunt. My nerves were shot, so I reached for Neteyam’s hand, gripping it way tighter than intended. He squeezed back, his thumb brushing slow circles over my skin—just for me, just to let me know I wasn’t alone.
“We will learn your ways. The Sarentu have done for centuries, she will help us. Am I right?” Jake looked at both Neytiri and me
“Yes”, Neytiri spoke as I nodded, her head snapping to look at Roal, who grabbed her tail. Her gaze then moved to Tuk, grabbing her smaller arm.
“Their arms are thin”, she let her go and moved to Kiri, pulling on her tail “Their tails are weak” Kiri’s ears flattened as she grabbed her tail from the Tsahik.
Neteyam flinched when Kiri cried out. I squeezed his hand again, close enough to whisper, “Open arms, open arms.” He looked at me, eyes wide and a little lost, so I bumped his shoulder with mine and gave him a half-grin. He squeezed my hand in return, grounding us both.
“You will be slow in the water”, the Tsahik's words trailed off as she saw Kiri’s hands. She snatched them to look at them “These children are not even true Na’vi”, she announced. The clan began to mutter amongst themselves.
“Dad,” Kiri looked to Jake, who gave her a pained look “Yes, we are”, she defended us. The tsahik's eyes moved to Lo’ak before snatching up his hand and showing the clan.
“They have demon blood”, my ears pricked as the clan erupted in louder talks of demon blood and half-breeds.
‘Look, look!” Jake walked forward, showing off his own hand “Look, I was born of the sky people, and now I am Na’vi. All right, we can adapt,” I sighed, looking towards the Tsahik, keeping my eyes low.
“I was raised by sky people, only taught our ways ma’tsahik. These people can learn your ways, as Jake Sully and I have learned” There was a moment of silence as the Tsahik took me in before she could speak. Neytiri spoke with her tail lashing.
“My husband was Toruk Makto” The look on Jkae’s face made me want to laugh. He looked like he wanted to scalp that fucking overgrown bird. “He led the clans to victory against the sky people”
"You call this victory? Hiding among strangers? It seems Eywa has turned against her. She wasn’t going to take that lying down, so she hissed back. Well, back to the Ikrans."
“I apologise for my mate. ” Jake began moving between the two. I bit back a laugh as Neytiri gave him an offended look.
“Do not apologise for me,” she hissed. Jake ignored her, continuing to speak.
“She's flown a long way, and she's exhausted”
“Jake”
“Toruk Makto is a great war leader. All Na’vi people know his story. But we, the Metkayina, are not at war.” Tonowari tried to distract from the argument. Jake picked up Tuk, who tugged at his arm “We cannot let you bring your war here.”
“I'm done with war”, Jake breathed. My tail lashed. Just because you're done with war, doesn't mean war is done with you “ I just want to keep my family safe”
“Uturu has been asked,” Neytiri spoke through clenched teeth. Ronal and Tonowari shared a look; it was easy to see they were having a silent conversation. Ronal’s closed her eyes, her ears unfolding.
"Toruk Makto, his family, and the Sarentu will stay with us. Treat them as our brothers and sisters. Now, they do not know the sea, so they will be like babies taking their first breath. Teach them our ways so they do not suffer the shame of being useless." Okay, that was harsh, but honestly? Fair enough. I caught Jake glancing back at us with a completely done, I-need-a-nap expression—relatable, honestly.
“Okay, what do we say?” Jake said in his best Dad Voice. A chorus of "thank yous " came from the group, Kiri rolling her eyes while Lo’ak barely pretended to pay attention. I tried to sound polite, but my thoughts lingered on the comment about being like babies.
“My son Ao’nung,” He gestured to the taller boy who pointed out our tails. I fucking knew it. “Our daughter, Tsireya, will show your children what to do”
“Father, why do..” Ao’nung looked up at his father, his tail swaying and ears folded in annoyance. Tonowari held out his hand to silence him.
“It is decided” The pretty Na’vi from earlier stepped up to us, a beaming smile on her face.
“Come. I will show you our village.” Tsireya stepped up, all smiles and sunshine, waving us along. Neteyam reached for my hand as we followed, his fingers lacing with mine so casually that no one even blinked. I shot him a look, and he just grinned, all soft and smug, like he knew exactly how much I needed that little anchor right now.
AN: Welcome to Chapter Seven! I hope y'all like this! I actually feel ick about the ending of this chapter, anyway, enjoy!
“Tuk, no, she’s sleeping,” Kiri’s voice drifted through the flaps of my Kelku, sounding half-exasperated, half-amused. My ear twitched at the chorus of voices outside—kids chattering, feet shuffling restlessly, the usual afternoon chaos brewing just beyond my little safe haven.
“She never comes with us, pleaseeeee,” Tuk whined, her voice so dramatic that I couldn’t help but smile, even before I was fully awake. I heard Kiri’s sigh and then her gentle, “Okay, okay, just be gentle.”
The flaps rustled, and I heard the soft pitter-patter of feet scampering toward me. Small, warm hands shook my arm, and Tuk’s soft voice called, “{Y/N}, {Y/N}.” I hummed, blinking my eyes open to see her grinning up at me, her cheeks painted with excitement.
“Tukkie?” I croaked, my voice still thick with sleep as I sat up and pulled her into my lap. She curled up easily, tail flicking from side to side like she couldn’t sit still if she tried.
“Come with us!” she beamed, every tooth on display. I tucked a stray braid behind her ear, stifling a yawn.
“Where are you going? Who’s us?” I asked, smoothing her hair with a sleepy fondness.
“We’re going to the old battlefield! It’s Lo’ak, Kiri, Spider, and me!” My ear twitched at that—technically, they weren’t supposed to wander that far without a grown-up, but I figured if I came along, Jake couldn’t complain. I glanced around—Neteyam was gone; he probably got called away by his parents. No doubt they wanted to make sure what happened at the raid didnt happen again.
“Where’s Nete?” I asked, and Tuk just shrugged, wriggling free from my lap.
“He’s on patrol with mum and dad, come on!” she insisted, tugging at my arm with surprising strength for someone so small.
“Okay, okay, just a second, Tuk,” I laughed, letting her drag me toward the entrance. I paused just long enough to grab the knife Tamtey had given me and sling my bow over my shoulder, ready for whatever mischief the rest of the day had in store.
We’d been wandering the forest for what felt like ages, the afternoon sunlight filtering down in golden streaks through the thick tangle of leaves overhead. The air was muggy, carrying that earthy scent of moss and flowering vines that always made me feel at home. Lo’ak, naturally, had taken it upon himself to lead the charge, even though none of us really knew where we were headed at this point—we were mostly just following whatever path looked interesting.
This part of the forest was nothing like Kinglor; the plants pressed in on all sides, lush and crowded, with roots curling across the ground and giant ferns popping up in the shadows.
I hung back at the rear, keeping an eye on the group and making sure no one slipped away. Tuk, true to form, got distracted by a banshee’s tail poking out from the underbrush. She dropped to her knees, giggling as she petted it—the tails weren’t nearly as big or flashy as the ones up in the upper plains, but they still flicked playfully under her hand. The whole thing made me smile; she could find something to play with anywhere.
“Come on, Tuk! Keep up,” Lo’ak called over his shoulder, half-annoyed and half-amused. I reached out, giving Tuk’s back a gentle nudge to get her moving, and she let out an exaggerated groan before scampering to catch up, her braids bouncing with every step.
We pressed on, ducking under low branches and stepping over tangled roots while the forest buzzed with insects and distant birdcalls. I caught the faint scent of sweet fruit on the breeze and heard Spider pipe up from somewhere near the front, “Bro, why’d you bring her anyway?” He sounded more curious than annoyed.
I didn’t know Spider as well as the Sully kids—he was friendly enough, always easygoing, but we just never ended up in the same circles. Still, out here, everyone felt a little closer, tangled together in the wild green heart of Pandora.
“She’s such a crybaby. Always with the ‘I’m telling!’ and ‘You’re not supposed to go to the battlefield!’ or ‘I’ll tell mum if you don’t let me come!’” Lo’ak stopped in the middle of the path, dramatic as ever, turning to make sure everyone could hear him.
His voice echoed through the trees, and I caught Kiri rolling her eyes hard enough I thought they might get stuck that way. Tuk, of course, was completely unbothered—she marched right up and planted herself in front of me, arms crossed and chin high, before sticking her tongue out at Lo’ak, using Spider as a makeshift shield.
“Don’t pick on her,” Kiri scolded her brother, her tone sharp but with a little smile tugging at her lips. I just crossed my arms, enjoying the show as Tuk’s tail flicked defiantly.
“Be nice, Lo’ak,” I called, struggling to keep a straight face. He just rolled his eyes in reply, but the whole group felt lighter for it. With a collective groan, we started moving again, deeper into the forest. The air felt thicker here, vines twisting overhead, and the ground soft underfoot as we wandered closer to the old Hallelujah Mountain battle site. My heart thudded a little faster as the sunlight broke through in odd, golden patches, lighting up an old, rusted Samson gunship tangled high in the trees—completely overgrown, a relic from another time. I wondered if So’lek had brought that one down himself.
Lost in thought, I barely noticed Lo’ak and Spider darting ahead, the pair scrambling up the trunk to peek inside the wreck. “Are there any dead bodies up there?” Tuk yelled, voice bouncing through the trees. I raised a brow at her, suppressing a smile at her morbid curiosity.
“Tuk,” I warned gently, but she just shrugged, mischief glinting in her eyes before scampering off after her brother and Spider. I glanced over and saw Kiri wandering off to one side, no doubt looking for a quiet spot to sit and listen to the forest breathe. The wind rustled the leaves, and something bright caught my eye—Tana’ring petals swirling in a lazy spiral, tempting me to follow.
“So’lek’s clan always said these flowers were sacred,” I murmured to myself, stepping off the path as the petals danced just ahead of my toes. “Are you trying to tell me something?” I let them lead me deeper, the sweet scent wrapping around me, until a sharp, electronic beep cut through the stillness. My ears snapped forward—the unmistakable sound of a hunting tracker.
I dropped to a crouch, eyes searching until I found a small shape hidden among the flowers: a juvenile Nantang, its stripes bright and awkward with youth. It whimpered, struggling to move with the tracker embedded in its flank. “Easy, sweet thing, easy. I won’t hurt you,” I soothed, crawling closer, hands outstretched.
The poor creature trembled but didn’t snarl, too tired even for fear. Gently, I pressed one hand to its neck and yanked the tracker free in a single motion. It yelped, flinching, so I hushed it—“Tam tam, I know, I know”—and quickly chewed a handful of petals to make a numbing salve, ignoring the way my tongue tingled and went half-numb. I smeared it carefully over the wound. “There you go, sweetheart.”
The Nantang watched me for a long moment, eyes wary and round. Then, instead of snapping at me, it gave my hand a soft, grateful lick before curling up in the bed of flowers to rest, safe for now in the dappled light.
“Kiri, {Y/N}!” Tuk’s voice rang through the forest, snapping me out of my trance. The wind had stilled, Tana’ring petals settling softly onto the mossy floor, and I glanced back to see the Nantang curled up, safe for now. Slipping away, I made my way toward Tuk’s call, finding Kiri on the ground with Spider hovering nearby. You’d have to be blind and deaf not to notice the way they kept sneaking glances at each other—something sweet and awkward blooming between them.
“There you are! Come on, we have to get back,” Tuk chirped, grabbing my hand as Lo’ak started to lead us toward high camp. She let go almost immediately to race after her brother and Spider, leaving me with Kiri. We exchanged a silent look, and I nudged her playfully, raising my eyebrows. She rolled her eyes and nudged me back, but a smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. The setting suns painted everything gold, casting long shadows that moved with us as we walked. The air was thick with the sounds of evening—distant hexaped calls, insects buzzing, the quiet hush before nightfall. As we talked in low voices, Lo’ak suddenly stopped dead in his tracks.
“Lo’ak, we’re supposed to be home by eclipse,” Kiri chided, watching as Lo’ak crouched down, eyes fixed on something in the dirt. Spider dropped beside him, curiosity written all over his face. I sighed, falling into step behind them.
“She’s right, you can play hunter tomorrow. Let’s go—” My words trailed off as I caught sight of what they’d found: a heavy boot print, Na’vi-sized but nothing like any of ours. My heart thudded in my chest as I drew my knife, every sense on edge. Kiri immediately pulled Tuk close, her protective instincts kicking in.
“Avatars?” Spider asked, glancing up at Lo’ak, who muttered, “Maybe.”
“This close to base?” I murmured, scanning the shadows, my grip tight on the knife. Lo’ak stood, his eyes narrowed, and began to follow the prints alongside the track.
“They’re for sure not ours,” he muttered. He moved with a hunter’s focus, tracing the trail deeper into the underbrush. Kiri and I exchanged a look—equal parts worried and exasperated.
“What are you doing?” Kiri hissed, sticking close as we followed. Lo’ak didn’t answer, just raised a finger for silence. “Shh—I’m tracking.”
Why were we doing this? We could be back at high camp in ten minutes, telling the patrol about the tracks. But no, Lo’ak had to be curious. I groaned as we left the main path, branches snagging my hair, and muttered, “You exhaust me, Lo’ak,” before following him off into the deepening forest.
We trailed the tracks for what felt like a lifetime, weaving through tangled undergrowth as the prints multiplied, spreading like a warning through the soil. My ears folded tight as distant voices drifted on the breeze—low, guttural, and definitely not from the clan. Every step made my pulse thrum louder in my ears.
We slowed, creeping up to the edge of a sun-dappled clearing. My stomach dropped. There, prowling around a half-swallowed, abandoned lab, were a handful of Avatars—tall, blue, and armed, their features foreign even in Na’vi skin. The lab itself was a skeleton, all rust and moss and vines clutching at broken glass, a ghost of RDA’s past. My gut twisted. This was so, so bad.
“We’re never supposed to come here—dad is going to ground you,” Kiri hissed at Lo’ak, her voice sharp with panic. Lo’ak just shot her a glare, irritation flickering across his face. I could almost hear him thinking, ‘not now, Kiri.’
“Shh, can you not?” he shot back, waving her off. Kiri rolled her eyes but didn’t argue, crossing her arms and watching him with that classic big-sister look.
“For life,” she muttered, making Lo’ak huff and shake his head, ears drooping. He ignored her and locked eyes with Spider, who was practically vibrating with excitement.
“Bro, we have got to check this out, let’s go!” Spider whispered, barely containing himself. The two boys exchanged a look and then bolted forward before I could grab them, Lo’ak’s tail just out of reach. Idiots.
“You idiots—stop, Lo’ak!” I hissed, tail lashing in frustration as they disappeared behind a giant fern. They crouched there, whispering and peeking through the fronds, studying the Avatars with wide, anxious eyes. After a moment, they slunk back to us, Lo’ak already reaching for his throat comm.
I pressed my own earpiece, heart pounding. Was he really going to call this in? Did he want to plan his own funeral? I was almost impressed. I genuinely didn’t think he’d risk more grounding for this.
“Devil Dog, Devil Dog, this is Eagle Eye, over,” Lo’ak whispered into the comm, voice surprisingly steady.
A crackle of static, then: “Eagle Eye, send your traffic.”
“I got eyes on some guys, they look like Avatars. But they’re in full camo and carrying AR’s. Theres six of them. Over.” There was static for a moment before Jake’s voice cut through
“Whats you POS. Over” Yep, Lo’ak was going to be grounded, the expression on his face said he knew it too.
“Oh…were at the old shack.”
“Who’s we?
“Me, Spider, Kiri, {Y/N} … and Tuk” Yep, Lo’ak was grounded for life, and maybe even after that if Eywa allowed it.
“Son, you listen to me very carefully. You pull back, right now. Do not make a sound. You get the hell out of there. Move! You copy”
“Yes, sir, moving out,” Lo’ak said, dropping his comm and motioning for us to double back. The tension was thick—nobody wanted to be the reason we got caught, but Tuk, jittery and wide-eyed, hurried to the front, clearly desperate to avoid a scolding from her mum and dad. I could already see the spot where we’d first stumbled across those tracks, and the urge to sprint all the way back to high camp was getting harder to resist.
Kiri couldn’t help herself, nudging me with a grin. “See? I told you! You’re all gonna be in so much trouble,” she teased as I helped her over a massive fallen scale tree. Lo’ak groaned, dragging his feet ahead of us, his bravado finally starting to crack.
“Shh, Kiri, seriously—stop. We have to be quiet,” he hissed, his voice barely above a whisper. I didn’t blame him; every snapped twig sounded like a gunshot in the hush, and the Avatars could have been right behind us for all we knew.
Spider jogged to keep up with Tuk, glancing over his shoulder. “Guys, come on,” he urged, nerves making his voice tight.
“It’s almost eclipse—let’s move!”
We picked up the pace, nerves jangling as the sky began to shift to dusky purple. Just as I thought we might make it—Tuk’s shriek split the air, sharp and terrified, freezing us all in our tracks.
"Tuk!” we all screamed, panic clawing up my throat as one of the Avatars lunged from the shadows and snatched her off her feet. Chaos erupted instantly—bows whipped up in every direction, strings straining, arrows levelled with lethal intent. My ears flattened to my skull, every muscle tensed as I let out a wild, spitting hiss, notching an arrow and sighting straight for the Avatar holding Tuk. The rest of the squad burst from the underbrush, boots thudding and guns raised; Lo’ak and Spider flung their bows between targets, hands shaking, Kiri’s knife flashing in the filtered light as she pressed in at my side.
“Put it down! Down! Put it down, or we’ll shoot!” one of the soldiers bellowed, their voice jagged with nerves. I snarled in response, drawing my bow tighter until my arms trembled, refusing to look away from the one clutching Tuk. Adrenaline roared in my ears as every instinct screamed to fight, protect, survive.
“Put it down, put it down,” Lo’ak called, but to the squad, it was just a rush of Na’vi—they kept barking orders, guns swinging wildly. My heart thundered, breath coming in ragged bursts, my vision tunnelling at the edges. Not now. Not again. I thought I’d moved past this, but the fear clawed up, hot and electric, crawling up my spine until my hands shook around the bow.
Suddenly, the forest wasn’t the forest anymore—sound bled, fractured. The Avatar holding Tuk seemed to flicker between their own face and Commander Alvies’s, that same cold, predatory stare boring right through me. I saw her lips curl, the echo of a sneer from memories I’d tried to bury. A savage urge to snap bones, to rip and tear, to show dominance, surged up in me like a tidal wave. That sick thrill—they all leaked from her ghost, coiling around my mind, stoking the fire of my rage until it was almost blinding.
I couldn’t tell where I was—one second I was in that fucking gym, the stink of bleach and metal and panic, the next I was back in the forest, my body braced to run, to fight, to survive. My chest tightened. I could practically taste that RDA sanitiser in the air, burning my nose, making my skin crawl.
The voices around me warped, too loud, too close, pressing in until I could barely hear my own frantic thoughts. I wanted to scream or lash out or run—anything but freeze, but I was stuck, trapped in the crossfire of memory and now, my past looping, raw and unhealed, right beneath my skin. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Spider, just as tense, both of us the last to lower our bows.
“Spider, {Y/N},” Kiri’s voice cracked, trembling as she pleaded. It wasn’t until Spider’s hand closed over mine and slowly forced my bow down to the dirt that the world snapped back into focus. I barely had time to register the loss of tension before rough hands grabbed my arm, and my fight-or-flight instincts surging into feral overdrive, every sense sparking with panic and fury.
I screamed, panic and fury crashing through me, and hurled myself backward onto the Avatar that grabbed me, sending us both crashing to the ground. My panic snapped into something feral—a need to destroy, to make them hurt the way I'd been hurt. Instinct exploded in me, white-hot and reckless, and I twisted, fighting like an animal, adrenaline flooding my veins. I clawed and kicked, scrambling on top, knees pinning their chest as I bared my teeth in a snarl. My ears rang with the sound of my own heartbeat. The world narrowed and blurred: I couldn’t hear anything, didn’t want to. The Avatar’s face melted away, and in its place flashed a parade of nightmares—her face, their faces, every ghost that ever broke me.
My chest heaved as I remembered it all in a rush: every bone snapped under calloused fingers, every cruel burn, every hissed threat, every word that still echoed in the dark. My hands shook as I screamed, voice raw, my vision swimming with red. I hit out, over and over, not caring where my fists landed—just needing to tear, to bite, to claw my way out of the past. With every blow, the features beneath me shifted: Alma’s fake smile, Commander Alvies’s icy glare, Alama’s lies, Harding’s smug grin, Mercer’s eyes, Mercer, Mercer. My mind spun out. Rage and terror tangled inside me, white-hot and suffocating.
I thrashed like a trapped animal as hands yanked me off the body beneath me, my vision swimming with rage and fear. My muscles burned, every instinct screaming to bite, to claw, to break free. The burning, screeching pain of someone dragging me by my Kuru jolted me out of the spiral. Suddenly, I was back in the forest, the scent of the sansitser was only just there, the smell of thick, damp air pressing in on my lungs. Distantly, I heard my friends screaming my name. “{Y/N}! Mawey!” Lo’ak’s voice finally carved through the static.
I hit the ground hard, breath knocked from my chest, and for a moment I just lay there, trembling, every muscle still coiled and wild, ready to lash out again. My heart raced, blood pounding in my ears as I tried to focus—where was I? What year was it? My mind stuttered between past and present, trauma and reality. I squeezed my eyes shut, forcing deep breaths, reminding myself—They’re gone. They’re gone. It’s been a year now. These were new threats, not the ghosts that haunted me. But that line felt paper-thin.
“Little bitch has a mean left,” the Avatar snarled, a twisted grin smudged with his own blood as he wiped his nose. I barely registered the words through the haze of pain and adrenaline—my knuckles ached, my heart still racing as panic and rage warred in my chest. I let out a raw, animal hiss, baring my teeth, defiant and wild, as I was pressed further into the soil. He laughed, the sound grating and cruel, and crouched in front of me, his shadow falling over my face.
Rough fingers twisted in my hair, jerking my head up, forcing me to meet his eyes. My skin crawled at the contact—my pulse skittered, memories flashing like lightning. For a split second, I couldn’t tell if I was staring at him or at one of my old tormentors. Even now, after everything, it only took a hand in my hair and that leering smile to send me spiralling right back into terror, seething anger, and shame. Why did he seem so familiar?
“What do we have here?” A new voice cut through the chaos, thick with an accent I couldn’t place—a voice that crawled down my spine, cold and sharp. I’d heard it before, back in the west, late one night when Taylan intercepted a message. I never got a name.
I forced myself to look away from the Avatar, still pulling on my hair, snapping my gaze to Kiri. She was on her knees, trembling, her kuru clutched in the grip of a bald Avatar who looked at her with all the warmth of a dissecting knife. My chest tightened. I wanted to move. But whoever pinned me down was far too heavy to buck off.
“Colonel, check it out. Four fingers, we have a half-breed.” The bald Avatar yanked Kiri’s hand up, showing it off like a trophy. The Colonel—the one with the voice—strode over, not saying a word, just circling, eyes cold and assessing. He stopped in front of Kiri, studying her like she was an animal in a cage, before moving on to Lo’ak, who was desperately trying to soothe Tuk and keep Kiri from losing it.
“Show me your fingers.” The command was sharp, straight to the point, and Lo’ak glared up at the Avatar. Of course, in true Lo’ak fashion, he didn’t just obey—he raised both middle fingers, defiant even now. Despite everything, a wild, hysterical pride twisted in my chest for him, proof that we still had some fight left.
“You’re his, aren’t you?” The Colonel’s words hit like a slap. His? He had to mean Jake—that must be who they were here for. But before any of us could answer, Lo’ak snarled, “You’re his alright,” and then cried out in pain as the Colonel hauled him upright, dragging him by his kuru. I couldn’t stop the helpless anger that surged inside me, hot and useless, as I shouted, “Stop!” right alongside Kiri. But our cries got swallowed by the chaos.
“Where is he?” he demanded, after catching his breath from the shocked pain. Lo’ak refused to speak English to him, spitting out in Na’vi.
“Sorry, I don’t speak English to buttholes.”
“Where is your father?” The Colonel’s voice sliced through the air, sharp and ice-cold. My ears pinned to my skull, a physical reflex of fear and helpless rage—he knew Na’vi. That made everything worse. He yanked on Lo’ak’s kuru; the braid pulled so tight Lo’ak snarled, doubling over in pain.
The Colonel’s eyes gleamed with a predatory sort of delight as he unsheathed a metal blade from his belt, the sight of it twisting my stomach. Panic exploded in my chest. We all started yelling, voices tumbling over each other, begging him to stop. Kiri spat out an insult, desperate and angry, and for a split second, it made the Colonel hesitate. But then he tossed Lo’ak to the dirt and stalked toward Kiri instead, boots crunching on the leaves, blade gleaming.
“No!” we all screamed, the word torn out of us as the Colonel advanced. I thrashed in my captor’s grip, heart pounding like a war drum. The one holding my hair barked an order and waved away the Avatar pinning my shoulders, then yanked me up by my kuru. Pain shot down my spine, and I found myself kneeling, forced to look up, my scalp burning, panic making my vision swim. I hissed through my teeth, fury and terror mixing until I could hardly catch my breath.
“Don’t touch her!” Spider’s shout cracked through the chaos. He thrashed wildly in the Avatar’s arms, and for a moment, he looked more wild animal than boy—all spit and violence. The Colonel paused, brows lifting in surprise at the sight of a human fighting for a group of Na’vi kids. It was a flash of shock—one that didn’t last long.
“What’s your name, kid?” the Colonel demanded, turning his cold gaze on Spider. Every muscle in my body tensed, I could practically taste my own panic as my mind spun, searching for anything—anything at all—that could help. But all I could do was kneel there, trembling, locked in place.
“Don’t say anything!” I shouted, my voice snapping louder than I meant. The Avatar yanked my Kuru so hard I saw white, a hot bolt of pain flashing through me, making me cry out without meaning to. For a second, everything blurred, my vision swimming, and I felt small and helpless and so, so mad.
“Shut it!” he growled in my ear, his breath gross and hot on my skin. I turned my head away, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing how much he was getting to me. His words crawled down my neck like Reyptswìk, making my skin prickle.
“Spider Soccoro,” Spider finally said, real calm, like he wasn’t even scared. There was no fear, no hesitation—just a stubborn edge in his voice that made my heart twist. He wanted to be strong, and for a second, it was like something crackled in the air between the Colonel and Spider. The Avatar waved off the one holding him, then knelt down so they were eye to eye.
“Miles?” I looked over, confused, catching Lo’ak’s eyes. He just nodded, like that explained everything. That was Spider’s birth name, apparently, but it felt strange and way too formal for him. He has some connection to the Colonel, one I would ask about when we weren’t being kidnapped.
“Nobody calls me that,” Spider shot back, his head held high in defiance, like he was daring anyone to challenge him. I didn’t question it—if he wanted to be called Spider, that’s what he’d get. He was staking his claim, even with all these monsters breathing down our necks.
“Well, I’ll be damned. Figured they’d send you back to Earth,” the Colonel muttered, squinting at Spider like he was a puzzle missing half its pieces. Spider scoffed, looking the Colonel up and down like he couldn’t believe how dumb this guy was.
“Can’t put babies in cryo, dipshit,” Spider spat, his words sharp as broken glass. The Colonel huffed, clearly not amused, and shot a look at the other Avatar, who immediately grabbed Spider again. As the Colonel stood up, his eyes locked with the Avatar holding me, and a sly smirk slid across his face. My turn, I guessed, and my stomach dropped as if I’d just stepped off a cliff.
“What in the hell happened to you, Anders?”
Anders. His name slammed into me like a freight train. Everything inside me went cold. My whole body just froze up, muscles locking so tight it felt like I might crack apart. My heart skittered, wild and sick. Suddenly, tears were burning hot behind my eyes, threatening to spill over. No, this couldn’t be real. There was no way. He was from TAP—he shouldn’t be here. My thoughts tumbled over each other, wild and messy, panic clawing at my throat. The forest spun. I tried to breathe, but my chest felt crushed, raw terror crawling up my spine and stealing the air from my lungs. It was like every nightmare had crashed through into the real world, and I was trapped, helpless, right at the centre of it.
“Little bitch, snapped. Thought I was the perfect thing to hit,” Anders joked, his voice casual and cold, like we were old friends. He yanked my head back, his grip rough and familiar in the worst way, forcing me to lock eyes with the Colonel. The Colonel’s gaze crawled over my face, zeroing in on the mark under my left eye, and that slow, smug smirk tugged at his lips—a look that made my stomach twist with dread.
“My, my, you’re one of Mercer’s kids,” he drawled, his words oozing out like oil. The realisation settled over me, sticky and suffocating. There was no hiding now.
“I knew I remembered you.” Anders' gross, hot breath hit my ear, making my skin crawl. I felt his grip tighten on me, and bile rose in my throat—I wanted to throw up, to scream, to claw his hands off me with everything I had. The revulsion was so strong it left me shaking, nausea twisting in my gut. Every brush of his breath, every hint of his cologne mixed with sweat, made my stomach lurch. I tried to yank myself out of his grip, desperate to escape the filthy press of his arms and the reek of him, but he tutted and pulled me back to his chest, “Ah ah ah, no running now. Daddy Dog-tag isn't here to protect you this time.” I heard Lo’ak yell as the Colonel yanked my face to look at him again, and I barely bit back another wave of disgust.
“You're the one thats been taking out our outposts, aren't ya?” he knelt down, his thumb tracing my mark “Scylla, isn't it?” I hissed at him, deep and guttural, the sound angry. The colonel laughed, throwing my head down as he stood up.
“{Y/N}” Anders corrected with that disgusting tone of his, “Scylla’s just what they call her at bridgehead” Colonel huffed a laugh as he pressed on his comms. I looked down at the forest floor. I could look at the others, I was ment to protect them. “Looks like the crew won this time”, Anders whispered in my ear. I could hear Lo’ak and spiders grunting against their captors.
“Iron Sky, Blue One, Actual-Were standing by for extract over. Be advised, we are bringing in high-value prisoners and a runaway; we have a TAP kid in custody” Dread filled me. I was right, the RDA was looking into TAP, but that meant one thing: I was the first one they found. The others were safe
AN: Welcome to Chapter Six! This chapter is gonna be the start of Avatar: Way of Water! Enjoy!
It’s been five months since I left the Kinglor Forest, and four since I became a part of the Omatikaya. I had slowly integrated myself into the Sully Family in the meantime without even realising it. It was early morning, the sun hadn’t even risen over the horizon, and half of the clan was up and buzzing around, moving with that nervous, excited energy you only get when something big is about to happen. The camp was full of quiet hustle—people weaving between tents, whispering, grabbing last-minute gear. There was a kind of chill in the air that made me shiver, but it also kept me awake. I could smell the damp earth and hear the low hum of voices all around me.
Norm got word from one of the nearby clans that RDA was loading up one of their trains. Instantly, the mood shifted—everyone went from half-asleep to laser-focused, exchanging glances and quickly gathering into groups. It felt like the whole place was holding its breath.
Apparently, since they came back to Pandora, the RDA spent months setting up high-speed trains to move everything you could imagine: food, medical supplies, lab results, even random Na’vi trinkets. The worst part was seeing Pandoran creatures butchered and packed up to be auctioned off back on Earth. I could picture Harding bragging about her black-market deals, counting her credits. It was like watching a bad history rerun.
“{Y/N}—you’re with Neytiri. Hit the fuel lines on the gunships. We’ve got exactly two minutes before the rear guard shows up, so we need to be in and out—fast,” Jake called out, his finger tracing lines across the battered map. I nodded with the others, feeling that rush in my chest, that adrenaline buzz that always hit before a raid. “Anything and everything we can grab, but weapons are the priority,” he went on, glancing around to make sure we all got it. I shot my hand up quickly. “If you spot the blue crate, flag {Y/N} right away,” he added, giving me a nod. I dropped my hand. “Ten minutes, people. Let’s do this.” The whole tent seemed to vibrate with energy as the people scrambled to finalise plans and check their gear one last time.
Na’vi darted everywhere, making last-minute tweaks—tightening straps, whispering quick reminders, double-checking every bit of gear. The whole place buzzed with nervous energy, like we were all trying to burn off the jitters before go-time. We’d meet up with the ground team soon; they’d gotten the full explanation last night, so everyone knew their part.
I fumbled with Nimun’s harness, making extra sure it was snug around her shoulders and belly. The last thing I needed was to lose a bag—or myself—mid-flight. My hands were shaking a little, but I kept working, glancing up now and then to watch the others get ready.
Jake, Neytiri, and Norm always took charge, hashing out the plans from the crack of dawn. The only real snag was always the RDA’s tight grip on their blueprints; those trains and facilities were locked up tighter than a stingbat nest. Lucky for us, I had a few connections in just the right places.
Once I finally got the comms that Teylan gave me working — after a morning of swearing at tangled wires and static— I managed to get in contact with the person I was looking for. It took hours of long conversations and catching up with everyone in the ristance, but eventually Pyria dumped a mountain of files into my lap faster than I could say “irayo.” It felt like we were actually getting somewhere, and the tension in my chest loosened just a bit as I scrolled through all that precious intel.
Digging through the blueprints, we realised these trains were basically giant, driverless tin cans—run on a bare-bones AI that could only start, stop, and mess with the speed a little. No fancy tricks, no secret override, just a hunk of metal with a one-track mind.
Once we cracked that, our job got a whole lot simpler: hijack the train, let S.I.D. take the reins, grab everything worth its weight, and then send the whole thing barreling back to base. If luck was on our side, it’d smash right through their precious facility, tearing it up and basically ringing the dinner bell for every hungry predator in Pandora.
We’d been ambushing these trains for weeks, and our hit-and-run tactics were definitely getting under their skin. Now, RDA barely sent any trains out, and the ones that did leave the depot were loaded to the gills—packed tight with supplies, gear, and whatever else they thought was too important to lose. The downside? Security got a serious upgrade. At least two gunships hovered over the main car, and another one guarded the rear like a stormglider. They had the whole thing locked down, double the firepower, double the headaches for us.
“Are your thoughts really that interesting, or do you just like zoning out?” Neteyam’s voice cut through my daydreams, making me jump a little as his hand landed warm and steady on my shoulder. These days, we were pretty much a package deal—if you found one of us, the other was always close by, trading quiet smiles or rolling our eyes together at whatever chaos the Sully family was up to.
“Just thinking about the raid,” I muttered, hoping my nerves weren’t too obvious. My hands automatically started checking his gear, going through the motions—tightening this, smoothing that, making sure nothing was flashy or loose when I reached up to the braid I’d woven into his hair, I noticed the little sailfin carving I’d usually sneak was still there. I nodded, a flicker of pride sneaking through. “So you actually listened,” I teased.
He caught my hand, giving my fingers a gentle squeeze and flashing that lopsided smile. “I always listen,” he shot back, eyes glinting with mischief. “But why are you so spaced out, Pasuk? You’ve done these raids a hundred times.”
I rolled my eyes at him, squeezing his hand in return. “Yeah, but this one’s different. It’s your first time actually in it—not just watching from the sidelines.” I poked his chest, trying to sound more serious than I felt. “You’re staying in the air, you and Lo’ak. You’re spotters, nothing more. I don’t care how much he taunts you, I don’t want to see you on the ground.”
He just grinned and kept his gaze on me as I fussed over him. My ears twitched with the way he watched—steady, almost like he was trying to memorise the moment. “I’m in the sky, Pasuk,” he promised, voice playful but sincere. He raised my hands, turning them and pressed a quick, warm kiss to my knuckles before grinning up at me. The gesture was so soft and ridiculous. Trust Neteyam to be sweet and a total menace all at once.
The leaves rustled above our heads as our squad flew past, the scent of damn earth, mixed with the smell of pollution, hung heavily as we got closer and closer to the high-speed train. Jake’s voice crackled through the earpiece, calm but stern. It was easy to hear that he was tense about this raid; his sons were now involved.
“Now Birdie,” Jake called me to start the attack — Nimun sleek, quick as lightning, weaved throughout the low-hanging branches, soaring over the undergrowth, scarcely avoiding the vien pods that threatened the pop releasing its nauseous gas. Above me, the rest of the party unleashed their war cries, echoing through the canopy as the first gunships came into view. “Ground team— Go!” Jake barked, and everything exploded into motion.
A second passed before the ground was shaking from the RPG the ground team aimed at the pillar of the track, sending chunks of concrete and debris flying. The train’s AI finally caught on that the track no longer existed, and it slammed the brakes as hard as it could, but it was way too late. The whole metal beast ploughed into the dirt, one car after another folding up behind it like a crumpled tin snake. This went on for a minute before all that was left was a choking cloud of smoke and a mountain of twisted scraps.
Nimun let out a sharp, ear-piercing squawk as I leaned forward, urging her faster through the chaos. The air was thick with the smell of burning fuel and that electric tang you only get after an explosion. Neytiri was already on the move, her bow drawn in a smooth, practised motion. She let her arrow fly, and it found its target with deadly precision—the gunman barely had time to register what hit him. I swooped Nimun low, hugging the underbelly of the clunky samson, and spotted the fuel lines snaking along the side. One quick shot and fuel started pouring out in a shimmering arc, trailing behind as the Samson began to tilt dangerously.
Neytiri sailed over the tilting gunship, moving like she was born for it. Another arrow, another target down—pilot gone, ship finished. The gunships crashed with a sound that rattled my bones, sending up a plume of black smoke that curled into the trees. Adrenaline still buzzing, I slid off Nimun’s back and hit the ground running. All around me, it was organised chaos—Na’vi shouting, Pa’li snorting, Ikran wings beating the air as everyone scrambled to grab what they could before the RDA regrouped.
I grunted as I pulled a yellow crate out of the wreckage, the weight making my arms hurt. “I got weapons!” I called out, Tarsem, who finished with another smaller group in directing them in the carnage, rushed over, and he helped me heave it over a stubborn rock, unlatching it before handing out its spoils.
Everyone was in scavenger mode, snatching up anything that wasn’t nailed down: rifles, mags, RPGs, med packs, and even busted RDA tech that might be worth something later. The air was thick with smoke, and the sharp tang of metal, and my hands were shaking with adrenaline. All I could focus on was that damn blue crate.
My eyes scanned the twisted mess of debris, hunting for that flash of colour, heart thumping so loud it drowned out everything else. Nothing. Just splintered wood and scorched metal. My tail drooped in frustration. Figures—it would be buried somewhere in the front cars, just to make my life harder.
“Birdie!” I hear Norm call over the chaos, cutting through like a lifeline. He’d found it. Relief crashed over me as I sprinted over, nearly stumbling on a pile of shattered glass, and dropped to my knees beside the crate. My fingers fumbled with the latches, tossing them open to reveal holopads, hard drives packed with terabytes of data, blueprints, and research files.
I worked fast, heart in my throat, eyes darting to the tree line in case the RDA decided to send reinforcements. I grabbed everything I could, stuffing my pack until it bulged. When we got back to high camp, I would spend hours upon hours sifting through the mess of files, looking through every line of code in case there was any mention of TAP, any hint of it being started up again. I refused to let what happened to us be repeated. “Thanks, Norm, I owe you!” I called out, hauling the half-empty crate toward Nimun, who eyed me with a look that said she was so done with this.
She squeaked in protest as I started loading her up, and other Na’vi joined in, piling on smaller things from the crash, mostly med packs. I strapped the pack full of holopads by her side and rushed to her other side to fill up the large pack with the rest of the crates’ remains. I must have pulled the strap too tight as she turned to hiss at me. “Sorry, sweetie,” I muttered, patting her neck. Just as I finished securing everything, a new noise cut through everything—a voice, one I knew all too well.
“You don’t even know how to use it!” my ears folded as I turned to look, and of course it was the usual suspect—Lo’ak grinning like a mad man as he held the gun like it was a trophy, I looked over to see Tarsem handing out guns without really looking, ah—that makes sense. Tarsem was just focused on handing out the guns, not caring who they were, just as long as they were Na’vi hands. Neteyam, on the other hand, looked like he was just seconds away from strangling his brother with his own bow string.
“You Skwangs!“ I yelled, making damn sure they both heard me over the chaos. Lo’ak, the chaos junkie, looked over and smiled, waving his free hand like I wasn’t two seconds away from beating him. Neteyam gave me the most desperate look — begging me to forgive him and not rat him out, regardless that he knew he was dead the second we got back to high camp. Neteyam shoved his brother and started walking towards me, holding his hands out as if to calm a wild animal.
“Pasuk, please, I was just trying to—” Neteyam started, his voice low, a little defensive, but there was a softness there too—like he was trying to make me laugh, trying to win me over even as I glared at him. Before I could scold him, the comms crackled to life
“More gunships!” someone shouted, and in an instant, the mood shattered. I fixed the boys with one last glare and vaulted onto Nimun’s back. The clearing exploded into motion—riders shouting, Pa’li stampeding into the underbrush, Ikran wings slicing the smoky air as everyone scrambled to regroup. My heart hammered as I urged Nimun forward, just in time to dodge a missile that screamed past our heads and exploded in a shower of dirt and sparks.
I twisted in the saddle, yanked a heavy arrow made for piercing metal from my quiver, and let it fly, punching through the gunship’s weak spot. It erupted in a ball of fire, shrapnel raining down into the trees. I let out a wild yip as it crashed, adrenaline still buzzing through my veins. If the RDA wanted that wreckage, all they’d find was a smoking pile of junk and a sky full of angry Ikran.
High camp was pure chaos when we got back—a wild swirl of voices, feet pounding the dirt, and bodies weaving in and out as everyone hustled to do their part. It was like a well-rehearsed dance, messy but efficient, and somehow nobody ever tripped.
Nimun’s wings barely touched the ground before half the clan was there, chattering in rapid Na’vi as they reached up to loosen straps and untie ropes. I slid off Nimun’s back—breaking tsaheylu always left me feeling a little hollow, like a piece of me was still hanging in the air, waiting to catch up.
I tried to shake off that weird emptiness and focused on the work. The pack of holopads thudded at my feet as I untangle the straps. My fingers moved on autopilot, but my mind wandered: how many raids had ended just like this? I unlatched the medpacks, warm from Nimun’s side, and handed them off—some to the healers, most to the lab, since Mo’at barely trusted sky people’s medicine anyway. “Take these to the Tsahik, and the rest go to the labs,” I called out over the noise, my voice almost lost in the commotion.
I ducked around Nimun’s tail and wrestled with the heavy bag at her back. She let out this low, grumbling groan, shaking out her wings in obvious relief as the weight came off. It made me laugh—a real, honest sound that tumbled out before I could stop it. I hefted the bag, seriously, who knew hard drives could weigh more than a satchel of fruit? and shoved it into waiting hands. “Labs too—Max’ll know what to do,” I said, shooting a tired grin at the runner as they disappeared into the crowd.
Finally, for just a second, I let my shoulders drop. The adrenaline was fading, the noise of camp swirling around me, and for a moment, I just stood there, breathing it all in—the smell of sweat and ikran, the buzz of voices, the energy that always hung in the air after a mission.
The aftermath always hit me hard; the adrenaline drained away, replaced by a bone-deep exhaustion that made my whole body ache for sleep. All I wanted was to curl up somewhere quiet and disappear for a while. I silently cursed myself for ever letting Jake know that I was good at handling the messy aftermath—sorting out the armoury, organising the chaos, patching up whoever needed it. Dumb move. My neck cracked as I rolled my shoulders, stretching until I felt a few satisfying pops. If I’d let myself, I probably could’ve melted into a puddle right there in the dirt.
But there was still work to do. I grabbed the pack of holopads, already picturing the neat pile they’d make next to the mountain of others we’d salvaged. I could almost see my Kelu in the back of my mind, calling me home for some well-deserved peace and quiet. Just a few more minutes, I promised myself, then I’d slip away and spend the rest of the day in blissful solitude.
Before I could even take a step, the sharpest, loudest hiss I’d ever heard sliced through the air right beside me. The sound was so jarring, it made my ears ring and nearly sent the pack of holopads crashing out of my hands. I whipped around, ready to scold Nimun for being a drama queen with the handlers, but instead of seeing her snap at the caretaker, I caught her giving in, tail flicking in annoyance as she begrudgingly let them check her wings for scale rot.
My brow furrowed, and I circled to the other side of Nimun, only to spot Neteyam’s ikran—Temek—standing alone, wings twitching, looking as lost as I suddenly felt. “Temek?” I called softly, reaching out to stroke his crest and calm him down. His hide was quivering beneath my palm, poor thing, probably picking up on all the frantic energy around camp. A knot of dread twisted in my stomach. If Temek was here by himself, where was Neteyam?
My ears flicked at the sound of the Olo’eyktan’s shouts echoing across camp—loud, sharp, and unmistakably Jake. That was all the proof I needed that Neteyam was alive and in deep shit. Relief hit me in a wave, and I let out the breath I hadn’t realised I’d been holding, giving Temek a last pat before weaving through the swarm of bodies to the Sully family’s usual storm of drama.
Everyone was there for the show: Jake in full lecture mode, Neytiri with her arms wrapped protectively around Tuk, who peered out from behind her mother’s legs with wide, worried eyes. Kiri was already on high alert, her gaze immediately landing on Neteyam—my ears folded back as I noticed him favouring his left side, trying to play it cool even as he winced with every movement. Skwang got himself hurt.
Jake’s booming voice cut through the noise “I let you two geniuses fly a mission, and you disobey direct orders.” Both boys kept their heads down, looking like guilty nantang pups. It was almost funny, if it wasn’t so serious. I couldn’t help remembering the last time I got chewed out like that—So’lek catching me sneaking into Palulukan territory for a so-called rare sweet fortune’s fruit turns out it was just a ripe fortune's fruit I could have gotten in any big leaf bimone.
Kiri didn’t even bother listening to Jake; she was already at Neteyam’s side, checking over his wounds with quick, practised hands. I crossed my arms, glaring at the bloody scrape on his chest. I knew I shouldn’t have spoken to Jake about letting Neteyam in on the action, but no—I had to fall for that stupid look he gives me, that too-big, pleading eyes routine he knows melts my stubbornness. Every time he does it, I swear I lose half my common sense and end up letting him and Lo’ak tag along.
“Kiri, can you please go help your grandmother with the wounded?” Jake sounded completely drained, practically pleading as he tried to herd his kids into something resembling order. Kiri rolled her eyes in the most dramatic way possible before her gaze snapped to me, giving me a quick once-over, like she was inventorying every scratch and bruise. Then she dove right back into arguing with her dad, voice sharp with that stubborn streak she had. Jake looked like he was on the verge of losing it—one more headache away from just throwing his hands up and walking into the forest for some peace and quiet.
“My brother is wounded,” she announced, chin tilted up, making it clear she wasn’t going anywhere until Neteyam was sorted out.
Lo’ak piped up from the side, indignant as his gun was wrestled away. “Why isn’t {Y/N} getting scolded?” he grumbled. My brow shot up, caught somewhere between confusion and disbelief—like, really, this is what we’re focusing on right now? Neytiri drifted to my side, her hands gentle as she checked me over for hidden injuries the adrenaline might’ve masked, her touch warm and grounding.
“Because she is trained, I don’t have to train her,” Jake snapped, his tail lashing behind him in agitation. I whipped my head around to glare at him, my face twisting in pure disbelief. Trained? Like I’m some sort of Pa’li? The insult burned, and I could feel my ears pinning back with annoyance.
“Why am I being dragged into this?” I shot back, throwing my hands up, my exasperation almost comical at this point. Lo’ak, ever the instigator, kept trying to plead his case, insisting I deserved a scolding, too. Neytiri just sighed and rubbed soothing circles into my back, her touch warm and grounding, trying to knead the tension out of my muscles before I snapped at someone.
“Because you aren’t in trouble,” Neteyam said with a huffed little laugh, tilting his head to catch my eye. He was trying that stupid, crooked smile, hoping it would soften my mood, but all it did was make me scowl harder. I jabbed a finger at him, my ears flat against my head in warning.
“Don’t even look at me,” I snapped, unable to hide my irritation. Neteyam had that guilty pup look, but I wasn’t falling for it—not this time.
Meanwhile, Jake was still trying to wrangle his kids, the chaos reaching a fever pitch. “Baby girl, please—Tuk, go with her. Go,” he pleaded, sounding more tired than angry now. At least three different arguments were happening at once: Kiri stormed off with a dramatic eye roll, Tuk stomped after her, clinging to Kiri’s tail with the world’s biggest pout, and the whole scene was so ridiculous I almost forgot how mad I was.
“Dad—Sir, I take full responsibility,” Neteyam said, voice steady, but his tail twitching with nerves. He tried to stand tall, wanting to shield Lo’ak from the worst of Jake’s temper, but I could see the tension in his shoulders, the way he squared his jaw and braced for impact. Always the protective big brother, even when he was in trouble himself.
Jake’s response was sharp and classic—“Yeah, you do. That’s right, ‘cause you’re the older brother, you gotta act like it.” Jake’s eyes narrowed, and Neteyam kept his gaze glued to the ground, posture soft and ears pinned back. I caught him biting the inside of his lip, a nervous tic he never quite managed to hide. My own ears finally relaxed, and I let out a breath I didn’t know I was holding. Maybe I’d come down on him a little hard. I kept my tail from drooping, not wanting Neteyam to think he was completely off the hook, but a tiny bit of my frustration melted away.
The circus of family drama was interrupted by Neytiri’s gentle voice. “Ma’ Jake, your son is actually bleeding,” she said, barely above a whisper but impossible to ignore, suddenly appearing at his side like she’d materialised out of thin air. I swear she was just by my side a second ago.
“Mother, it’s fine, I—” Neteyam tried to talk his way out of it, but Neytiri wasn’t having it. She fixed him with a look that brokered no arguments, and even Jake softened a little when he caught the way she was fussing over Neteyam. For a split second, all the usual bluster in Jake’s voice faded, replaced by something gentler—maybe he remembered what it was like to be young and reckless.
“Just go and get patched up. Go on, dismissed.” Neytiri nudged Neteyam toward the healing tent, her hands surprisingly gentle on his shoulders. Neteyam shot me a look over his shoulder, but I just shook my head at him, biting back a smile. He might be hurt, but he wasn’t getting off that easily. I barely had a chance to breathe before Jake turned that dad-stare on me. “You too, Birdie. Have you been sleeping?”
“Jake, I’m fine,” I lied, forcing a casual shrug even though exhaustion weighed me down. The truth was, I hadn’t slept well in days. Ever since I found that encrypted file on one of the holopads—‘Director John Mercer - TAP’—it had been eating at me, making my chest feel heavy and my dreams restless.
Jake squinted at me, not buying a word. “No, you look dead on your feet. Dismissed. Get some rest. And that’s an order—no holopads until you’ve had at least two hours.”
Two hours had crawled by, and all I’d managed to do was scroll through a mountain of new holopads. Rest? Not a chance—not with the RDA poking around TAP and Mercer. My nerves felt like they were stretched to the breaking point, jittery and raw. My thoughts kept circling the same questions, each one heavier than the last: What if I missed something? What if they were coming for us next? What if it was already too late?
Every time I blinked, I saw flashes of Teylan slamming Mercer into the wall with his own machine, the sickening crack of his spine snapping in two echoing in my head and sending a cold shiver racing through my body. My heart jackhammered in my chest, breath coming short and shallow. I tried to focus on the holopads, but the words slipped away, replaced by a parade of worst-case scenarios I couldn’t shut off. Anxiety gnawed at my insides, sharp and relentless, refusing to let me rest.
Why were they after Mercer now? Maybe Harding ratted us out after we destroyed his facility. I tore through ten holopads, searching for any whisper about the western front, the Sarentu, or TAP—nothing. Not even a hint. My eyes burned as I rubbed at them, the words on the screen blurring in and out of focus. The next file was some endless report, ‘Neural connection to Pandora,’ a scientist droning on about how everything here was part of a vast neural network. Groundbreaking stuff, right? No duh, genius.
I slouched back, groaning as I dragged the file into the secure cloud. Seriously, the scientists on the eastern front had to be the dimmest glow worms on Pandora. They’d only just started puzzling out the neural connections between everything on Pandora, while the West had already cooked up the ‘severed’ years ago. At least we had Hajir on our side—Eywa only knows what the Sky People could’ve done if they hadn’t been stopped at Palulukan and Nantang. The thought made me shudder, and I leaned back, letting my head thump against the wooden stick that kept my hammock up, willing myself to just breathe for a second.
My ear twitched as I picked up the sound of someone slipping quietly through the flaps of my Kelku. I didn’t have to look up to know who it was—Neteyam always moved as if he belonged in my space. He settled in just behind me, stretching one long leg out so it brushed against mine, his whole posture protective and familiar, almost curling around me. “You’re not resting,” he said, and his voice was lower than usual, rough with exhaustion, but somehow still tender.
I didn’t turn, but I could feel his presence, warm and grounding. “You were supposed to stay in the sky,” I shot back, but there was no heat in my voice. Neteyam just hummed, reaching over to gently pluck the holopad from my lap, letting his fingers linger on my knee for a heartbeat longer than necessary before setting it aside with an easy confidence, like he knew I wouldn’t fight him on it.
He hesitated, as if wanting to say more, and for a moment his touch tightened, like he was afraid to let the moment slip away. There was a longing in the way he looked at me—his gaze tracing the curve of my cheek, the line of my jaw, almost reverent. It was as if just being close to me wasn’t enough; he needed more, but wasn’t sure how to ask for it. He leaned closer, hand finding my knee, his thumb tracing lazy circles that sent a little shiver up my spine. “You can blame Lo’ak for that,” he murmured, voice gentler now. “He wanted to be on the ground and if—”
“If something happened, you wouldn’t be able to forgive yourself,” I finished for him, finally turning to meet his gaze. His eyes searched mine, tired but bright, and for a second, everything else faded away. There was a softness in his expression, something vulnerable and open, and I felt myself leaning into it. “But you still broke your promise,” I said, my voice coming out gentler than I meant.
Neteyam nodded, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth as the quiet settled between us. He watched me with a kind of hunger, like he was trying to memorise every detail before the moment slipped away. The air felt warm and safe, filled only with the soft sounds of our breathing and the distant hum of camp outside my Kelku. Neteyam shifted, tucking a loose braid behind my ear. My eyelids grew heavier with each passing second, and I barely noticed myself nodding off until Neteyam’s gentle laugh rumbled through his chest.
“Sleep, Pasuk. You’ve done more than enough today,” he whispered. His hands were so careful, coaxing me down until my head fit perfectly in his lap. I let out a soft sigh, pressing in closer as his fingers traced idle, soothing patterns across my temple. The comfort of his touch and the steady rise and fall of his breath lulled me until I finally surrendered, letting sleep win, safe in the circle of his arms.
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