Author's note: This one-shot will make more sense if you've read the 1st chapter of "Five seconds too late." In a way, this can be seen as "bonus material" for that story. I was originally going to simply tack this on at the end after finishing the fic, but then decided that I didn't want to spoil the mood of the ending. I figure it's capable of standing on its own, as long as you are aware that "Five seconds too late" follows an alternate ending to the scene we see in the movie.
This was an interesting one to write; the tone is very different from my other stuff, and it's my first experiment writing in a more intimate, first-person, stream-of-consciousness style. PLEASE REVIEW, and tell me how I did! Let me know what worked and what didn't.
Last thoughts
You know what? Fuck this. Dying sucks, turns out. It sucks hard. Hurts like hell, for one thing. It's also really, really frightening, in a way you'd think should be self-explanatory but that you don't really appreciate in full poetic terms until it is happening to you. It's then you realize how every other fear — every stupid phobia, every prickle on the back of your neck — all spring from the same source, the Big One, the Fear of Death. Fear of the dark, fear of the unknown, fear of loud noises, fear of heights. They all boil down to being alive and having some animal part of you very much wanting to stay that way, despite whatever crazy suicidal things your more evolved brain has inspired you to do.
You'd think I'd be a pro at this, what with spending my entire adult life sticking my squishy neck out, putting myself in the path of bullets and insurgents and angry aliens. But no, this time is different, and I can tell. My number is up for real this time. Even in Venezuela — riddled with bullets, with a fucking hole blown through my back — there was always the promise that I might make it out alive if I could just hold on for a little while longer. But the poison is everywhere; I can feel it in my blood. I can feel myself disappearing, becoming nothing, and it is fucking terrifying.
It is also incredibly inconvenient. Poor Neytiri. Her father's dead, her home's destroyed, even her poor banshee is dead, and now this stupid human meatsack is about to short out on us too, because I was too knuckle-headed to think that maybe someone would find the link-trailer. Kind of a big obvious Achilles' Heel, sitting out here. This entire body is one fat pasty Achilles' Heel — can't walk, can't even breathe the fucking air — and it doesn't even cross my mind. Heh, look at me, invoking Greek mythology like a smartass. Tommy would be so proud. Hey, Tommy, scooch over. Looks like I'm gonna be sharing a room with you again, maybe.
I thought I'd done everything I could, thought I'd taken every measure available to boost our pitiful odds. I even prayed for Christ's sake, which I've never done before, and it actually worked, what do you know. But for all that, noooo, it didn't occur to me to radio Norm for ten seconds and say: "Hey bud, before you link in, would you mind setting an exopack next to the link pods somewhere within arm's reach? You know, just in case some shit happens and there's a leak and some pathetic cripple is trapped inside trying to breathe but he can't because the fucking rebreathers are strapped up in fucking boxes mounted five fucking feet off the ground. Thanks, bye."
What is up with that, anyway? Neglecting to stick a ramp by the stairs I can forgive, but come on guys. If there is a facilities complaints office wherever I'm headed, they are going to catch some righteous hell. Speaking of which, I swear, if there is any sort of afterlife at all, I will track Quaritch down and beat the ghostly shit out of him for what he's taken away.
God, Neytiri looks so sad. It breaks my heart the way she's looking at me, pleading with me. I don't deserve that. I don't deserve to be mourned with that kind of intensity, with such love and purity of emotion. This entire clusterfuck was my fault, my fault from the start, and now I won't even be around to help clean up and put things right. Well, at least the battle seems to have gone our way, against all odds. They'll get to take back their world; they'll get a chance to heal. But Jesus, they've lost so much. This war has been so bloody. I screwed up bad, and they're the ones paying for it. Neytiri is paying for it. What did she ever do to anyone... she doesn't deserve this. She didn't deserve any of it.
There's so much I want to tell her. I want to tell her I'm sorry — for Hometree, for the war, for what's about to happen. I told her once that I didn't want her forgiveness, but that was a lie — I was being proud. Well, not anymore. I want her forgiveness; I want it so bad; I want to cry and beg and explain, because I tried to stop them, Neytiri, I really did. I want to squeeze her hard and tell her how much I love her, how much I'll miss her. But I'm too weak to move, and my throat won't work, and my time is running out.
You know, even with my vision fuzzing out on me, I can't believe how beautiful she is. Man. I was the luckiest guy in the galaxy, if only for a little while. Her face is going to be the last thing I ever see. So I guess things could've ended worse for old Jake Sully.
Poor Neytiri. I've really screwed her life up hard, haven't I. Way to go, Romeo. Heh, that rhymes.
I want to... I just wish that...