Avatar is the property of people who aren't me. This work of fiction is not authorized by those people.

A/N – Appropriate short story for today. It's also a launch pad for a fic-in-progress that I'm scheduling to launch February-ish next year, although regular readers will know how bad I am at keeping to schedules.

Tom tried to stay patient while he waited for his brother to answer the call. The more advanced and intense his training became, the fewer opportunities he had to get out of the facilities. His training aside, Tom had not had many opportunities to see Jake in the last few years. He did not want to miss this opportunity to catch up with him.

Jake had enlisted in the Marine Corps a little over three years earlier, soon after which Tom began his training for the mission to Pandora. He still vividly remembered the day he received notice of Jake's injury – and the frustration that RDA would not let him make an unscheduled departure to visit him in the hospital. It was not until several weeks later, long after Jake had been discharged from the military hospitals and had started his therapy, that Tom had been able to see him.

He was still disturbed by the memories of their meeting.

Though Jake had smiled when Tom entered the rehabilitation ward, it struck him as forced – as were his laughs at Tom's jokes. During the lulls in their conversations, Tom would notice that Jake seemed to be staring off to some distant object, if anything at all. They were twins, but in those first few months, Jake seemed to be years older.

His attitude had improved since then, but he was still much colder at times than Tom remembered from their childhood. Jake was too keen to point out the survivalist tendencies of mankind, how the strong preyed mercilessly on the weak. Whatever redeeming qualities of humanity Tom tried to use in contrast, Jake slapped them down as false constructions to hide – or subtly manipulate and exploit – people's primal desires. Their respective lifestyles and choices aside, it seemed to Tom that the two had less and less to talk about each time they met.

Tom had no desire to give up on his brother, though.

After two more attempts to connect, Jake, sitting topless in his wheelchair in his almost cell-like "apartment," appeared on Tom's video monitor. Irritated, Jake began to say, "Can't a guy shower without—," but then he stopped himself. "Oh. Hey, Tom. What's up?"

Tom chuckled before he replied, "I guess it'd be too much to say you were cleaning up for me?"

Jake grinned. "Yeah, that'd be a stretch." He threw a shirt on before asking, "So, again, what's up?"

"I was just checking to see if you'd be at the train station when I got in tonight, or if I should meet you at your place."

His brother raised an eyebrow. "Huh?"

"Did you forget?" He paused to see if Jake recalled their arrangements on his own, but he only stared blankly into the screen. "I'm coming to visit you this weekend."

Jake cursed under his breath and then said, "I thought that was next weekend."

Tom masked his disappointment with a short laugh. "If you're not ready to have me come by, I can…"

"No," Jake interrupted. "No, definitely come by. I know it's a pain in the ass for you to get out of that dungeon. I just have plans tonight."

"Oh," Tom said flatly as his pretense began to fail. "Well, if you have plans, I can just relax in my hotel room until tomorrow."

His brother frowned at the suggestion. "Can I call you back on this number in a few minutes?"

Most of the facilities phones were secure lines, as RDA kept a tight lid on the deepest secrets of its Pandora project – and that included how it trained its personnel. Even Tom's personal phone had been confiscated, replaced with an RDA-approved phone that he was certain had been bugged. However, Tom was calling his brother from one of a handful of monitored, public terminals, and so the station's number should have appeared unmasked on Jake's phone. Tom nodded, and Jake disconnected without another word.

Fifteen minutes later, just as Tom was getting nervous about making his train's departure, Jake called back. "Hey, my buddies are okay with you tagging along if you're up for it."

Tom had hoped Jake had taken the time to cancel his plans, not try and work Tom in. Still, he did not want to impose his own ideas on a weekend agenda to Jake. "Yeah, that sounds good," he replied. "What's the plan?"

"I'll meet you at the train station," Jake said. "You're coming into Union, right?"

"Yeah, around seven."

"Good," Jake said with a nod. "See you at nineteen-hundred, then."

Tom chuckled and gave a limp, two finger salute in response. "Yes, sir."

The fifteen-hundred mile trip from the RDA facility to Los Angeles took barely more than a couple of hours on the high-speed train corridor, the worldwide network only made possible by receiving a constant supply of power from unobtanium-based sources. Tom was keenly aware that he was preparing to play a pivotal role in ensuring Earth – more specifically, RDA – received enough of this precious mineral to sustain the fragile world economy; however, the closer he got to the end of his training and departure to Pandora, the more upset he became with the company's lax attitude towards preserving Pandora.

Of course he could not express these concerns vocally, not unless he wanted a quick expulsion from the program. Indeed, he had waited years before even broaching the subject with his training partner, Norm Spellman, when he was certain Norm harbored similar doubts. Once they were comfortable discussing RDA's approach to Pandora and the Na'vi in candid, private conversations, those conversations would turn to how they might be able to expose, if not stop, RDA's activities. Those plots, however, remained unrefined.

Tom kept himself occupied on the train ride by trying to flesh them out; but much like in the conversations with his friend, he did not have enough time to settle on any finite plans.

Jake, true to his word, was waiting in the arrivals wing just off of Tom's platform. They greeted each other with a handshake – they almost never hugged, even before Jake was confined to a wheelchair – and they made their way out of the crowded station. Tom fumbled through his rucksack for his exopack, when he noticed Jake did not have his at hand. "Are you just that used to chewing on L.A.'s air?" Tom asked with a grin.

Jake shrugged – or, perhaps, just more forcefully pushed on the wheels of his chair – and replied, "There're other things that could kill me."

"Like what?"

"You have no idea how few cabs stop for a guy in a wheelchair," Jake said with a grin as they arrived at the taxi ramp. "Speaking of which—," his voice trailed off as he pounded on the passenger door of an idling car. "You working?" he called through the window to the driver, who had apparently fallen asleep at the wheel.

The middle-aged man, his face dark and leather-like, slowly came to his senses and nodded at Jake. "Then pop your trunk," his brother ordered as he opened one of the rear doors and lifted himself from his wheelchair and onto the passenger seat.

The cab's trunk door popped open, and Tom took it on himself to stow Jake's chair along with his few luggage items. He allowed himself to wonder how Jake could afford a cab ride, but then it occurred to him that Jake likely expected him to pay. Tom sighed, shook his head and checked his wallet, then hoped the few paper bills he was carrying would be enough – or that the cabbie's card reader worked.

Tom sat next to Jake and did his best to avoid looking at his brother's atrophied legs. Even this long after Jake's initial therapy, Tom found it hard to believe that those skinny, toneless legs belonged to a man who was otherwise in near-peak physical condition. "Felix's on Third and Main," Jake said to the driver, either not noticing or simply not acknowledging that Tom's eyes refused his better intentions and remained fixed on Jake's legs.

Despite the cabbie's seemingly lackadaisical attitude, he wasted no time speeding away from the taxi ramp and into the metropolis' streets. In another era, the city was notorious for its traffic-clogged roads; but as fossil fuels disappeared and fewer people could afford the alternate energy cars – as much due to declining wages as the expense of the vehicles – Los Angeles' streets became increasingly devoid of traffic. This evening, the cabbie was dodging more pedestrians and bicyclists than other automobiles.

As Jake had foretold, Tom noticed the driver did not give as wide a berth when he happened on those in wheelchairs, once muttering, "Cripples taking up our goddamned space."

Tom bristled at the comment, but Jake seemed to pay it no mind. He said casually, "It's Aaron's 'Alive Day.'"

Jake managed to break his focus, but he had not understood the comment. "What?"

"It's his 'Alive Day," Jake repeated. "That's why I couldn't cancel our plans tonight."

Tom let out a short laugh. "You're going to have to explain this to me."

"Today's the anniversary of the day he almost got killed in Venezuela," his brother explained. "Each year a few of us get together and celebrate that he's still kicking."

"Ah," Tom replied with a nod. "So how come I've never been invited to your Alive Day?"

Jake shot him a sideways glare and said, "Because I never intended on being close to dead. The Nav just made me quit walking, not breathing. I've always been alive."

Tom was never sure if the slang Jake and the military community adopted for their enemies in the National Army of Venezuela was meant to be a slight against the Na'vi or an inconvenient coincidence. What he did know was that many of the veterans who were recently shipped off to Pandora as part of RDA's SecOps contingent always seemed to get a chuckle out of meeting the "Nav"s again. He did not chance bringing up the question, at least not now.

Tom held up a hand in defense and replied, "I was just curious."

Jake grinned and punched his shoulder – again, the apparent strength of his brother's upper body seeming to Tom to be impossibly related to his diminished legs. "I'm just messing with you, Tom." He shrugged and added, "I'd just as soon not think about it, you know?"

Tom had no idea, and he knew it. However, he nodded and said, "Yeah, I hear you."

The cab made a too-sudden stop at the bar, and the driver turned back to the twins and said, "Sixteen dollars."

Although he wanted to demand to know how a one-mile drive for two people could cost sixteen dollars, he was sure the cabbie had an explanation in the can. So reluctantly, Tom reached for his wallet, but Jake stopped him. "I've got this."

"Really?"

"Yeah," he said with a nod. Jake then grinned and added, "As long as you've got my drinks tonight."

Tom snorted and, stepping out of the car, said, "How about I get your chair, and then we'll figure out the rest as we go."

When he came to Jake's side of the car with his chair unfolded, he heard the driver exclaim, "Why no tip?"

"Because I heard your comment, asshole," Jake replied, transferring from the passenger seat to his wheelchair. "So here's a tip: Get fucked." He then slammed the door. The driver responded with a discourteous gesture before speeding off.

Felix's was an unremarkable bar nestled in a row of unremarkable, adult-oriented storefronts which occupied the first floor of a high-rise apartment building. Even if they were not already well into the autumn evening, Tom figured that the many towers which made up the core of Los Angeles would have thoroughly blocked out the sun; and if not the towers, then the overhead advertisement screens which turned each street of the city into media-saturated tunnels would have done the trick. For blocks in every direction, there was not a trace of natural light to be found. Any noise generated inside the bar that made it out to the street was likewise caught up in the din of advertisements and other establishments.

The combination of omnipresent light and sound threatened to overwhelm Tom's senses. Just as he thought he would be swept up in the cityscape, Jake slapped Tom's knee with the back of his hand and said, "C'mon, let's get inside."

As they approached the bar, a man standing by the doorway looked at Tom and said, "How you get you legs back?"

"Huh?"

The man could have been in his early sixties for all Tom could tell. His skin was taut and his hair – what was left of it – grey. His left hand shook at his side while he chewed on the stubs of the fingernails on his right hand. To say he was wearing clothes would also have been generous, as he appeared to be barely holding together a tattered robe with duct tape. "You legs," he said again. "You got 'em 'gain. How you do that?"

"I'm down here, Ray," Jake said, the anger that he had displayed towards the cab driver a moment earlier replaced by compassion.

Ray's eyes darted between the brothers, and then he let out a raspy laugh. "This some hologram shit, right? You trickin' me."

Jake chuckled. "No, Ray, this is my brother."

Again, Ray seemed to jump between the two of them, and then let out the same, almost desperate laugh. "Oh, I see you now." He focused on Tom again and asked, "Hey, standing Jake, you got some money?"

"Uh—," his voice trailed off in uncertainty. If this were any other homeless person or panhandler, Tom most likely would have kept on going without acknowledgement of the question. However, since Jake appeared to have a kind of relationship with him, he was inclined to be generous, despite his brother's oft-stated misgivings about the weak receiving handouts.

Jake solved his moral dilemma by once again hitting Tom's knee and then giving him a slight nod. "Uh, yeah," Tom finally replied, taking out his wallet. "Ten bucks?"

"I can do that," Ray said with an enthusiastic nod, quickly raising his left hand to receive the money. "That'll be fine." Tom barely had the bill out of his wallet before Ray snatched it from his hand. He grinned and asked, "How 'bout a sandwich? You get me one?"

"He just gave you ten dollars," Jake said, more flatly than when he spoke before. "You can buy one."

Ray shook his head. "People keep throwing me out," he said sharply. "Say I scare customers. Won't let me buy nothin'."

Jake nodded towards the bar and said, "Drake will give you something."

"He throw me out, too!" Ray shouted. "Guy made fun of me shaking, I broke out his teeth. Drake won't let me come in no more."

Tom's brother frowned and sighed. "All right, I'll be out later with a sandwich. Can you wait?"

"I can do that," Ray said with another nod. "That'll be fine."

The brothers continued on into the bar, at which point Tom asked, "You know him?"

"He's a regular here," Jake said casually. "Can't help to not know him."

"So then – if I may – is he, you know, drugs, too much VR—?"

Jake took a breath and replied, "Two tours in Nigeria." He did not elaborate, and Tom was happy enough to not know the details.

Inside, the bar was teeming with people, all of whom seemed to be shouting to be heard by their friends over the music. The walls were almost totally taken up by large monitors, each of which displayed a unique sporting event, even though only a few patrons seemed to be paying them any attention.

Tom followed Jake towards the back of the establishment, ultimately to a table where five other men were seated. As they approached, one of those seated, a younger guy with a shaved head and a number of visible tattoos, looked up from his mug of beer and said, "Dammit, Jake, you said you had a twin brother."

Jake scoffed and said with a nod towards Tom, "Who the hell do you think he looks like?"

"He looks like you," the man replied, "but if you're twins, then how come he doesn't have any of your ugly?"

The others around the table laughed, although to Tom it sounded like they were just humoring the bad joke rather than finding it actually humorous. Jake simply flipped his middle finger at the man before settling at the table. "Guys, this is my brother, Tom," Jake said as Tom pulled up a chair, pausing to give the group a quick wave and smile before sitting.

Jake continued with the introductions. "Tom, this is Donny," he said indicating a well muscled, light skinned man sitting on Tom's immediate right, "the smartass is Cade," he said with a slight nod towards the would-be jokester, "Ken," a dark skinned, lanky man with long hair, "and Aaron," he concluded, gesturing to the man sitting opposite Tom who, as Tom's eyes adjusted to the bar's lighting, he noted was also seated in a wheelchair, and the right sleeve of his shirt was rolled up to reveal a prosthetic arm. His face was also thoroughly scarred – It seemed to Tom as though from a fire.

When Jake finished, Aaron introduced the last of those at the table. "And, Jake – Tom – this is a friend of mine from my first deployment, Tristan. He moved here a few weeks ago, thought this was a good opportunity to meet the rest of you."

Tom nodded and said, "Glad to meet you all." He looked at Aaron and continued, "And if I had a glass, I'd say cheers to you."

Aaron grinned and replied, "We'll get that fixed soon enough."

As if on cue, a casually dressed female server arrived at the table with empty glasses and another pitcher of beer. "Are you two just going to share their pitcher, or would you like something else?" she asked.

"We're good for now, Sarah. Thanks," Jake replied.

"All right, well, just let me know," she said with a smile. "I know how you all can be." Jake and his friends laughed, genuinely this time, and then Sarah was off to another table.

"So, you all served together?" Tom asked the table.

"Other than Tristan, yeah," Jake replied. "Same company, at least. Donny and I came up through Basic together."

Tom nodded, and then remained quiet for most of the rest of the evening. His brother explained his shyness to the group by saying at one point, "RDA's got him locked up in a lab somewhere, even though he's supposed to be the scientist and not the rat. Probably stunted his social skills." Tom took the comment in stride, but Jake was not too far off. In addition to the isolation, his day-to-day routine could not offer anything of value to the veterans' conversation.

Beyond the combat stories, to which Tom could not even begin to relate, they were speaking with a kind of camaraderie that Tom did not enjoy with the vast majority of his colleagues, perhaps Norm being the exception. At the same time, he was trying to process something he had not seen from Jake in years: genuine happiness. He was at ease with these people, animated and conversant. It was the kind of relationship he had with Tom in their younger years, but which had seemed to have faded.

Tom was not jealous of these men for having the kind of relationship with his brother that now seemed beyond him, but he could not help from feeling the loss of it in a more physical way than he had ever allowed himself before.

Later in the night, and several pitchers of beer later, Jake excused himself for the restroom. Tom found himself feeling vulnerable, but he did not have long to dwell on it. Aaron looked across the table and asked, "So you're the smart one, huh?"

Tom shook his head. "Jake's smart," he replied. "We just had different priorities, I guess."

"Like what?" Aaron pressed. So far, Tom had learned that Aaron, the senior non-commissioned officer in Jake's company, was a very candid person, but he did not know if in this case his candor was masking an offense to what Tom had just said.

"Well—," he began uneasily. Tom did not want to slight his brother, much less his friends, but he also did not have it in him to answer dishonestly. "I don't know," he eventually said. "Jake's thing when we were growing up was that he wanted to 'matter,' and I guess I just wanted to see how far I could take myself rather than worry too much about what other people were doing."

"Is that why you're going to Pandora?" Aaron asked. "Just want to leave all this shit behind?"

"No," Tom replied. "There's good research going on up there, stuff that could help things down here."

"Stuff that matters, in other words."

Tom grinned. "Yeah, stuff that matters."

Aaron nodded slowly. "Did Jake tell you what happened to me?" Tom shook his head. "We were starting the Bolivar offensive, and we were tasked with taking this shithole of a place called Ciudad Bolivar. Well, it was shithole except for the major highway crossings and airbase that the brass wanted.

"Fucking Navs knew we were coming – really, any idiot could see we needed that town if we were going to keep going into the bush. So they blew up one of the bridges going into town, and forced us to cross over another one they rigged with explosives.

"We found the bombs, but the time it took us to disarm them allowed their mortars to zero in on us. So here we are crossing this bridge under fire – no air cover, of course, because they've got SAMs everywhere, and all our birds got chewed up taking Caracas anyway – and just as my track makes it into the city, a round drops right into my driver's lap."

He shook his head and took another sip of beer. "You keep hearing about guys who get knocked out when their vehicle got hit by something or another," he continued, "but I was awake for all of it. I knew right away how bad things were. Everyone else was dead, my arm was hamburger meat," he said as he raised his prosthetic, "and everything was on fire. I figured, 'Hey, I guess this is what Hell'll be like.'

"And then the rear hatch opens, and there's this dumbass corporal – standing totally fucking exposed to all the mortars and gunfire – who's pulling me out of there."

Tom did not need him to explain who the corporal was.

"In the middle of a fight like that, anybody could just as well have assumed I was as dead as the others. But he came back and pulled me out. He got me back here to see my kids grow up." Aaron took a deep breath and said, "He may not be trying to save the world like you are – or like RDA says y'all are doing up there – but if you want to know what it means to have priorities, or what it means to matter, then that's it."

"I hear you," Tom said with a nod. "I see what you mean." He took a breath and, with no small amount of reluctance, said, "Can I ask you something, though?"

"Shoot."

"Was it worth it?" He regretted asking as soon as he said it, and so just as quickly tried to cover himself. "I mean, family, yeah, but…"

"But do I regret losing an arm, my legs, and having a face only my family can love?"

Tom winced. "I didn't mean that."

Aaron scoffed. "Sure you did, whether you know it or not. The answer is, 'No.' I signed up because of my principles, because you always hear people talking about how screwed up the world is and how nobody has any decency or values left in 'em. Well, I do, and I was more than happy to put myself out there to prove it, too."

He grinned and let out a short, harsh laugh, and continued, "I won't blow smoke up your ass and tell you I'm glad for how it turned out, but I'd sooner live like this knowing I stood up for something than live knowing I suckered out on my values just because I didn't want to get hurt." His grin widened, he looked past Tom, and then called out, "Ain't that right, Corporal?"

"You're always right, First Sergeant," Jake replied as he wheeled himself up to the table. "What are you right about this time?"

"Priorities," Aaron replied. "The next of which is to get some more beer." He snorted and added, "Sarah better not have ended her shift."

The group remained at the bar for a few hours longer, until Aaron declared that he felt so alive that he was sure to regret it in the morning. On exiting the bar, Tom managed to remember Jake's promise to bring Ray a sandwich; but when he looked around the street, the old Marine was nowhere to be seen. Jake, even in his slightly desensitized state, appeared to pick up on Tom's confusion. He said, "Ray never stays. It doesn't make him feel safe to stick around in one spot for too long."

"Nigeria?"

Jake's laugh was bitter. "Yeah, goddamned Nigeria."

Although they both could have done well to have flagged down a taxi, Jake insisted that his apartment was nearby. "Nearby" turned out to be eight blocks, although they walked an additional two blocks when they continued past the correct street the first time and had to circle back. By the time they did arrive at Jake's apartment, Tom was able to remember his hotel reservation, and so politely declined Jake's offer to stay the night. "I promise, my floor is roach free," he used – twice – as a selling point.

"Nah, I have a strong preference for beds."

"Yeah, well, don't get lost on your way to the hotel," Jake said. "Muggers are everywhere."

"Then how come we didn't get mugged?"

"Because you're with me," Jake replied with a grin. "And everyone knows that guys in wheelchairs are ass-broke."

It took Tom a second to get his brother's joke, and he felt inappropriate by laughing at it so loudly. If Jake minded, however, he was keeping it to himself.

"All right," Tom said. "I'll call you tomorrow, then, and I'll be sure to keep my eyes open in the meantime."

"That'll help," Jake replied with a nod. "Or else you'll miss the guy in the window."

If that was another joke, Tom did not get it. Jake was grinning, but it was not like he had for his last quip; now he seemed bitter, grinning at a turn of fate rather than a turn of words. Still, Tom politely chuckled, nodded, and then turned to find his way to shelter while Jake searched his pockets for his keys.

Before Tom was too far down the road, however, he turned and called out, "Hey, Jake!"

"What?"

"I think I'm a little late, but happy Veterans Day."