Author's Note: No one look at me. This is my very weak attempt at an idea I have cooking. I have no idea what it is going to turn out to be like, so we get to figure it out together! Don't be mad, and remember I love all of you! Let me know if this is an idea worth continuing! Enjoy!
Warning: Child abuse/ torture.
Warm arms wrapped around him, careful and gentle. A soothing rock back and forth lulls him back to sleep, despite the loud noise coming from just outside of where they are. A large hand runs up and down the dark and light blue stripes of his back. A small part of his brain tells him that he should be worried, that he should be looking for a way to get back home, but he's tired. He just wants to rest. He hadn't been feeling well, but he so badly wanted to go out, so he made sure not to complain. But now his head really badly hurts, and he wants to get some sleep. He usually feels better after he gets some sleep.
The little boy purrs softly, nuzzling into the neck of the one holding him, little arms locked tightly, and eyes shut as he drifts. There is a rumble from the chest of the one holding him. A little laugh from the young man, then more rumbling as he speaks.
"See?" He says, voice low and soft. The world around shifts sharply and the little boy tenses, whining softly and curling closer in fear. The hand rubs soothingly against the back of his head. "You're okay, kid. I told you nothing is going to hurt you. I got you."
The boy tucks his knees tighter between them for warmth and comfort, curling up more. The man is wearing something that has a strange feel to it, something the boy is unfamiliar with, and while a little scratchy, it isn't all that bad. His body starts to relax again under the gentle ministrations of the man holding him. There is a sound of wind pushing against the outside of the space that they are in and the gentle din of people talking around them.
"You like the kid, Fike," Z-dog says, blowing a bubble and lounging back in her seat across from him.
"Sure," Fike says, rubbing at the boy's back as he drifts back to sleep. "Just because his dad is a monster, it doesn't mean that he is. I mean, look at him. While I won't claim to be any sort of expert on Na'vi children or nothing, but he can't be older than, what? Five? Maybe six? He's practically a baby."
"I checked him out after that hard hit," Walker says, pulling at a loose strand on the seat padding next to her. "We may have to get him in for a scan to make sure there is no concussion, but you knocked him back pretty hard, Lyle."
"I didn't see him," Lyle defends himself, leaning forward with his arms dangling between his knees as he stares intensely at the little boy's back. "Intel didn't say shit about Sully bringing his kid."
"Well, considering he just left him out there when he ran, unless he's an actual monster, I don't think he knew his son was there," Fike says, patting the boy's back comfortingly. "Wasn't Mrs. Sully supposed to be out there somewhere? Maybe he was with her. Or maybe that's what Sully thought."
"That's probably what happened. Kid left mom to chase after dad right around the time we attacked and dad made a run for it not even realizing that his kid was there with him," Z-dog says, popping another bubble. "Poor kid."
"Does anyone know what the Colonel wants with him?" Lopez, next to Walker, asks. Their transport shakes around them, jolting them a bit and making the little boy whimper again in Fike's arms, burying himself further into the young Recombinant.
"Probably to turn him over to General Ardmore," Lyle says, crossing his arms with a frown, somewhat uneasy.
Lopez looks over at Fike, "Then I wouldn't get too attached, dude."
"I know," Fike says, watching the little tail curl and sway slightly in front of him as the young boy relaxes into a lucid dream-like state. "What do you think the general will do with him?"
"Probably torture him," Lyle says a split second before Lopez says, "She's going to grill him for information." He leans around Walker to look at Lyle before adding, "Yeah, probably through torture. She's cutthroat."
Fike's eyes widen in horror, the hand rubbing the boy's back presses into his shoulders and back of his neck as of to pull him closer. "Jesus, she wouldn't. He's a baby, dude!"
"I can't be the only one who heard stories about her," Mansk says, next to Fike. He looks at the little boy's face, watching as it relaxes again. If he didn't know any better, he would assume that the boy was just some other Na'vi child. He had four fingers and toes. No eyebrows. Nothing that immediately indicated to him that the kid was in any way related to Jake Sully. But that's also part of the reason they have to bring him back - to do a blood test. If this kid is in fact Jake Sully's, then he was born within the year that followed the humans leaving Pandora.
Ironically, this boy was probably made around the same time that they were.
"I heard that they shipped her out here because Selfridge wasn't making enough progress for the big guy upstairs," Lopez says, adjusting something on his tactical vest. "She was on her way out here before Sully even kicked us off Pandora. Apparently, she made some pretty big moves at her last station on Earth. I hear she's a 'any means necessary' sort of woman, which isn't bad. I guess, unless you're Venezuela."
"What happened there?" Ja asks, adjusting his hat on his head.
"From what I heard," Lopez says, glancing over at him, "they couldn't get the situation under control, so she ordered one of the villages be burned to the ground to force submission from the Venezuelans. Apparently, and this is just what I heard, but apparently it was a relief site. Injured. Woman. Children. Elderly. The works."
There is a long moment of silence before Walker, quietly, says, "That's pretty fucked up."
Lopez nodded in agreement, but simply says, "It worked, from what I hear."
The transport shutters a bit, making a few of the recoms reach up to the handles above them to keep them steady, while glancing back at the whining little boy, who's whining persisted with the shaking until after a solid thirty seconds, it finally stops. But by then, the little boy has pulled away from Fike enough to look around, glassy golden eyes filling more and more until fat globs of tears slide down his cheeks. He looks at Fike, blinking through massive tears, sniffling but not outright sobbing, with his ears pressed back.
"Don't melt, Fike," Lyle says, leaning back into his seat.
A pop of gum. "Humans and Na'vi both have spines, Fike. And being born twice don't forget that you've had it more times than most," Z-dog says, a sly grin passing her lips at Lopez and Ja's snickers.
"Shit," Fike mutters, staring at the quietly sniffling boy. His face morphs more and more in compassion as the little boy stares back at him, blinking dazed and confused. Despite how fast the tears are sliding down his darkening cheeks and how shaky his breaths are, there is remarkably little sound coming from him. Fike's eyes pull up to the darkening mark on the boy's forehead, gently pushing away a loose braid behind his ear. The boy doesn't fuss, just stares back at Fike with incredibly sad, and scared eyes.
Finally, little lips part and he speaks. But none of the Recoms know the language. It's garbled, thick with his tears so even if any of them did know the language, it would still be hard to understand.
"I don't understand you, little man," Fike admits, petting down one of the boy's arms. The boy looks at the action before sinking down to sit on Fike's lap with his legs tucked underneath him. He places one little hand on Fike's chest, making direct eye contact with him, sniffling softly.
His little ears press back as he speaks again, saying the same thing, but a little louder, tears still sliding down his cheeks. His shaky little breaths mixed with hiccups. But still extremely quiet for an obviously upset child.
"Sempul."
Everyone glances over at the cockpit to see Quaritch leaning out, dropping down the two steps easily before hooking his thumbs through the loops of his fatigues and stares down at the little boy, who perked up at the word.
"One of the words he's saying is 'sempul'," Quaritch says easily.
"What does it mean?" Prager asks from Z-dog's side, peaking around her to look at him.
Quaritch smiles, walking closer to kneel down next to Fike and the little boy, who turns on Fike's lap to look directly at Quaritch, blinking big, watery golden eyes. He sniffles, leaning his shoulder into Fike's sternum a bit. Quaritch reaches out a hand, palm up.
"Sempul," he says.
The little boy's ears perk a bit as he sniffles again, placing his tiny hand into Quaritch's.
"Sempul," the little boy repeats his soft voice shaking and thick with emotion. A small hand wraps around one of his fingers, as he stares into Quaritch's eyes, the other hand lightly playing with the strap of his watch. The older man glances down at the little hand, then back into big golden eyes, clicking his tongue. A look, for just a brief moment, passes over his features, before he smiles, placing his other hand over the tiny one holding his finger.
"Sure, kiddo. We'll find your dad."
It's part of the job. No one can dispute it. And the job can get ugly. They all know this. It's what they signed up for. If they want any chance of saving humanity, someone has to do the ugly, unthinkable parts of the job. Someone has to be the bad guy. They all tell themselves this, in varying degrees, as they stand in silence, listening to the little boy cry.
Blood test confirmed that the child was in fact biologically connected to Jake Sully. Technically, to Jake and Tom Sully, as it was Tom's avatar that created him. But that was all that Ardmore needed to order the boy to talk. To tell them everything that they needed to know. Everyone in the room was silent, no one knowing how to respond to that. No doubt they were all thinking the same thing.
What was a child supposed to know?
But it didn't matter, apparently. Because he wasn't just anyone's child. He was Jake Sully's. Public enemy number one. Which was almost as bad as being Jake Sully himself. Ardmore didn't seem to even notice all the alterations they had to make to ensure the child could even fit on the machine designed to scramble his brains, disorient him enough to make him talk. She sipped on her 'pacify' mug contently as the whirling lights spun around the sobbing boy, Walker's complaint about a possible concussion falling on deaf ears.
Lyle was right. And he took no pride in it. He just stood by Walker's side as she wrapped her arms around herself, as if chilled. He didn't say anything to her, didn't touch her, but the way she looked at him, begging with her eyes for him to somehow make it stop. But when all he could do was stare back, she looked away, shoulders slumping a bit and her golden eyes turned to the back of Ardmore's head, intense, angry, focused.
But she too, said nothing. She didn't move to remove the child from the machine or further speak out against her commanding officer.
They knew. They knew something like this could happen. It... it's... not a surprise to... any of them...
Fike stood as far away as he could while still being able to see the little boy's tormented face. His fist were clenched at his side, but his mouth remained closed. He was warned not to get attached. Not to let the two hours it took to get back to base, listening to the little boy say something to him in his soft little voice, the tears finally drying up as he poked at some of the things on his vest or ran a little pointer finger down his nose and along his cheekbones. His head hurt, Fike could tell, as the boy would keep rubbing at it, but he never complained, never whined too loud. He would just rub at his forehead, rest against Fike, maybe take a few short catnaps before sitting back up again to look around.
But he didn't do anything. He didn't say anything either. He was warned, yet the kid just seemed so... innocent. Was so innocent.
Mansk, Prager and Ja all huddled together. None of them saying anything to one another but Prager took one look at Mansk's face and had to look away at the angry frown there. Ja just kept shifting his weight on his hips, leaning back and forth, looking from the sobbing boy to the floor, to the boy, to the ceiling, to the boy again. He couldn't look at the torn up little face any more than he could look away from it.
It's a horrible, ugly, disgusting job... but it is theirs. Someone... has to do it.
Zdinarsik is standing off to the side of the room, usually relaxed and leaning, chewing on her gum and crossing her arms, but not now. Now she's standing with her back ramrod straight, staring right at the little boy, eyes hard and focused. Unlike the rest of them, mouths sealed shut, her full lips part and a single word is mouthed when the boy's teary eyes find her own after pleading with all of them to help him, even as he sobs, blood dripping down his nose.
"Fight," she mouths, but stays silent.
This is almost what they were brought back for. Almost. Except it should be Sully there. Not some kid. Not even Sully's kid. Then again, Ardmore ordered them to kill Jake Sully, so this... well, it really wasn't... wasn't what they were brought back for at all.
Brown and Lopez are against one of the walls, side-by-side. Lopez is staring at the ground while Brown is looking at the ceiling, neither being able to look at the boy. But neither complain either. But Lopez's finger taps away at his biceps from where he crossed his arms and Brown was counting the tiles on the ceiling. It was what he did when he was anxious, counting random things. But they didn't oppose what was going on - not out loud. It wasn't their place to speak out against their commanding officer. It wasn't their place to have a say in how the operation is run.
No matter how they feel about it.
Zhang is waiting by the doorway into the room, still there, still listening, but his frown is in place and his arms are crossed. Much like Mansk as the strong, silent type, but he isn't hiding the daggers he's glaring at the back of Ardmore's head. Because no matter what their mission was, Zhang was very clear in his understanding, they weren't torturing kids. As much as it sucks to hear about and see children getting caught in the crossfire of war, he understands that. He's lived through that. He knows that there isn't always a way to ensure that those that are innocent make it out unscathed, or even alive. He's realistic enough to know that he can't stop something that he doesn't have control over.
But this is beyond that spec. They didn't have to bring the kid here. Whether they suspected the boy of being Jake Sully's son or not, he was probably five or six years old. As far as Zhang's concerned, there is absolutely nothing that this child could know that would be worth it. Even if he was old enough and smart enough to articulate everything that they needed to know, Zhang would rather find it literally anywhere else. He can't control the actions of others, but he can control the outright disgust he feels for all of this.
That they all feel for this. But no one says anything, no one speaks as each minute passes like a century. Three minutes is all they can take. Of the crying little boy, looking around at these strange people that he wasn't afraid of when he woke up. People he probably thought was going to take him home only to bring him to this strange place and hurt him. Yet still, as a child does, he looks to these strange adults that look enough like him that the others seem like the scary monsters.
Even now, as he cries words they don't understand, he looks to them to save him.
Because two hours of detached kindness was enough for a small child who doesn't understand.
Even the interpreter brought in to ask questions is staring down at the ground, rubbing at his forehead, as if unable to watch this any longer.
The little boy keeps crying, saying something over and over again, despite the questions the man asks. Finally, he turns to look at Ardmore, saying, "He doesn't know. He keeps saying that he doesn't understand, ma'am."
Ardmore's soft lackadaisical hum makes more than just one of First Recom's blood boil. "He's a child, Simmons, you have to use smaller words."
Like a rubber band, all of the First Recom's head snap in Quaritch direction as he walks in, mask brought up to his face as he looks around the room, taking in all the displeasure from the people working there and the anger radiating off of his own men, until golden eyes finding the little boy. He stops, taking in the scene in front of him. The small boy sobbing, saying his phrase again. Blood trickling down his lips and chin as he struggles to catch his breath in the air around them, doubling his torture. Fat globs of tears sliding down his cheeks as he looks around, confused and terrified.
Quaritch stops moving, all of Recom holds their breath as they wait. None of them had to be there, no. But all of them were. Because they were the ones that brought this baby here. To face the devil herself.
It's their job, they all know this. They all know that all the pieces of their souls couldn't have remained intact when doing a job like this. A big part of the job was the ugly part of it. They all knew this. They all understood this. And as much as they all hated this, they were loyal to Quaritch. They would all walk through hell and back for him. He had made the choice to bring the kid here, no doubt suspecting something like this might happen. So, they all went along with it, no matter how they felt. Because in each individual way, they all felt beholden to Quaritch.
Quaritch knew how to make all the hard decisions. Knew how they had to proceed forward, no matter how disheartening it may seem. Where he went, they would follow without a moment of hesitation. He worked too damn hard, was too respected to be offered anything less.
The little boy's eyes find Quaritch and there is a moment, another moment like before, that this strange look passes over Quaritch's face. One that only Lyle could interpret, but that was because he was the only one who knew. He's not sure on Quaritch's feelings, the exact meaning of the look, but he just knows that Quaritch is thinking about Paz, and about the son that was born just before the assault on the Na'vi. Just before all of them died.
Quaritch was thinking about the son that he lost.
The only thing is, Lyle isn't sure if he's angry at the boy for the reminder or not. That look... it's almost confliction. Anger, but yearning. Sadness, but hope. Maybe Quaritch himself doesn't know what to think. But no one else knows about little Miles, just Lyle. And that's why Lyle knows it hurt something fierce when the little boy, staring right at Quaritch and reaching out with one tiny hand as far as the restraint would let him, called Quaritch the Na'vi word Lyle just learned to mean, 'father'.
If the Na'vi deity is real, she has got a crazy twisted bit of humor, that's for sure.
The interpreter, Simmons', face contorts in confusion at that. He turns to look around to see who the boy would be calling that, when Quaritch, fast as a bolt, just sort of moves him out of the way and swaggers over to the device controlling the machine, powering it down.
Ardmore sips at her coffee as the little boy sags in his restraints, sobbing, coughing and heaving all at once, unable to breath for multiple reasons.
"I'm not finished with him, Colonel," she says, voice even, but her cold eyes stare beyond the rim of her cup to stare at Quaritch. A lesser man would have been pinned in place or struck dead with the spear of ice from her eyes.
"Come now, General," Quaritch says easily, swagger still in place. He spreads his arms wide and smiles that cold, friendly smile that he mastered when dealing with people he didn't like. "How are we supposed to get any information out of him if his brain is cooked?"
Walker shifts uncomfortably next to Lyle. He doesn't look at her. He knows she's already worried about a possible concussion, but now this?
"Let us handle this," Quaritch says easily despite the razors in his smile. "I think we can use the boy. Your plan to catch Sully off guard worked enough that now he knows we're here, so we've got to be smart about how we plan our next move." His words were dangerous. Said coyly. Enough respect that if one wasn't paying attention, they wouldn't notice the backhand accompanying it.
Ardmore is unfazed. Either she didn't catch it or didn't care to react to it.
"Very well, Colonel," Ardmore says after a few moments and another sip of her coffee. "I expect results." With that, she turns to leave, apparently dismissing them without words.
"Wars aren't won in a day," Quaritch says, crossing his arms over his chest, looking after her.
Ardmore pauses, turning around slowly to offer him the frostiest smile ever to see Pandora, her eyes razor sharp and cutting, proving she did in fact catch his jab and slams one back in return with a simple, "The Na'vi proved that statement wrong." Then she turned and kept going.
Quaritch's lip curls slightly but doesn't retort. After a beat of silence, Quaritch staring off after Ardmore, he gives a small nod to nobody.
Immediately, Walker makes her way over to the boy, ripping her breathing mask off of her neck and puts it over the little boy's mouth, smiling lightly as he takes little gasps of air. She hooks the elastic around his head and starts undoing the restraints. The little boy coughs and cries, blood and spit landing on the inside of the mask as his lulling eyes roll up into his head and he goes limp.
Ja is there, picking up the boy's sagging body as Walker releases the last restraint. She takes the breathing pack off of her waist and lays it on the boy's stomach as Ja heads for the door with Walker following behind. She stops by Zhang, who offers her his breathing mask for a second. She take accepts, taking a deep breath from it before following Ja.
Slowly, but surely, the rest of Recom, without a word, pile out of the room until Quaritch is left standing there, with a room full of people unable to even look at him. Quaritch waits a beat, then another, then one more, before turning and leaving the room.
