He dragged himself down the passage with the mental capacity of a drunk, yet he had not the mercy of liquor and its ability to dull pain. The mind was perfectly clear and able to register the full weight of what bedevilled him, a force so strong it caused him to physically buckle. His hand streaked against the wall as he navigated the cramped tunnels to his hovel. Norman stared at the grey panel door. He used his necklace, and the doors obeyed his command. He scoffed; the only power he possessed now was his ability to open a cage within a cage. Norman took a step inside, mindlessly stripping his EXO pack, and proceeded through into his room. It was about sixty square feet, mostly taken up by a cot, plumbing and a small storage place. The xenoanthropologist and devotee of Eywa, veteran, brother, and friend, sat on his bed. His mind had been on Earth the entire time: that amazing, beautiful, one-of-a-kind lady of the solar system—gone. Everything—gone. Everyone—gone. Norman brought up his hands and began to cry as any child would upon discovering they were now an orphan—a cry so exasperated from shock that it devolved into hyperventilation. His future, as he saw it, was a tombstone already inscribed with an epitaph. And it was not just his future that died, but his very reason for being alive. What was the purpose of his existence?—mankind's whole purpose? Why did they even begin to exist if it would all accumulate to this outcome? Centuries of enlightened progress amounting to nothing.
Rubbing his puffy eyes, he wiped his sore face dry and sniffled back the discharge as he sat there in a petrified stupor. He was in the most dangerous position a man could ever find himself, when thoughts of despair creep in to fill the void of hope. Surely, a mistake was made when the precious gift of life was given to such an insignificant dust speck like him. As he continued to sink, he realized the gift was wasted, and the only right thing to do now would be to snuff it quietly than to go on abusing it.
Norman searched his room, letting his imagination run darkly for a purpose that no man should ever entertain. He slumped to the floor and dully opened his storage unit. He didn't have possessions, just memories, strung together on a single cord—the last vestige of his glory days as a great and noble warrior. The human picked up the scrapbook of his wonderful life and, for the first time, looked upon it with dissatisfaction, for it was not enough rope.
A buzzer rang.
Someone had arrived to check up on him. Norman had to temporarily set aside his dark task to deal with the intrusion. He got up and brought himself to the peephole. Based on the crew cut, he identified him as military. What did Bridgehead want? He thought with rage. What else could they possibly do that they haven't done already? Norman was starting to lose it. He faced that door in preparation; he would answer the uniform for whatever nefarious purpose they came for, but he'd be ready. Looking around again, the zealot found a corner next to the door, then pressed the entry button before hiding. Wrapping the songcord tightly around his fists, he listened, in the seconds that stretched into eternity, the woosh of air from the vestibule, the stomp and cease of footsteps, and then, the inevitable opening of his door.
The warrior lunged.
Instantly, the waytelem was thrown over the head to ensnare the neck. Norman throttled him backwards, but the other man had the quickness to send elbow thrusts into his sides before grabbing the strangling cord with both hands and bending low. Norman was pulled off his feet and onto the man's back, yet he maintained his hold. Doubled over, Norm's victim began choking, but the resilient opponent still made attempts to jostle him off before ramming him into a wall. Bash after bash, Norman's grip finally loosened. The man then seized the songcord and ripped it away before spinning around to pin Norman's neck in an armlock.
That scowling, wild face, when it finally locked eyes with his attacker, softened all at once. "Norm? Why are you attacking me?"
He sputtered in disbelief. "Spider? Is that you?" The arm came down. "Oh my god… Spider…" He didn't stop himself; the lifer threw his arms around him and sobbed.
"Make up your mind, Norm," he laughed past his own wet face.
"I thought you were one of them…"
The clan brother slapped the trembling back in solace; he understood—more than understood—what he was going through. "You're not gonna last out here if you do something stupid. You gotta keep your head, man. Don't give up. That's what they want."
Somehow, Spider's advice extended beyond that present moment and spoke to the Norman of a few minutes ago—when he contemplated the unthinkable. It was too much for the man. He couldn't string together a single coherent sentence in his wretchedness.
"C'mon, Norman. Strong mental attitude! You with me? …? You with me?" Spider shook him till Norman's face drifted back, and their gazes met; he weakly nodded in response. "Okay… Okay." The coach patted his face thrice. "You're too passionate, Normie." He laughed despite his genuine fear for him. "So long as you're stuck here, you need to hold it in—hold it together. But don't give up. We'll beat them eventually."
"They killed Earth…"
The Pandoran let his eyes fall downward. "I know…"
"They killed her, Spider… They killed our world. This is all that's left!"
"No!" he threw back. "This is just a dark cave! There's a whole world still out there. Remember that! You've only been gone for a few weeks, and you're already forgetting? You still have a home. There's still Pandora. There's still hope." Spider spoke his words as if he saw directly into Norm's soul, like a handyman coming in with his flashlight, assessing, nodding, then getting to work, repairing the damage. Having saved his life, Norman gripped the palm on his face in appreciation and nodded his affirmative.
Feeling assured that his words were taking effect, Spider coaxed his friend to sit on the bed where he sat with him.
"It's good you came." He sniffed.
The younger man rubbed the burn around his neck but agreed. "It's a good thing I'm stronger than you."
Norm was mortified upon reflection that it wasn't just his own life that had a close call. "I'm real sorry I tried to kill you, bud."
"It's okay, man."
"How did you find me?"
"I've been tracking you down the moment I heard you guys surrendered. I couldn't believe it. How did relations with the Omatikaya get so bad?"
He was not about to reveal Spider's hand in the tragedy. "It was inevitable, Spider. The Na'vi wanted to go back to their old ways, and we… We were holding them back." Miles Socorro leaned slightly away, growing suspicious, as he listened. "There were signs for a while. You were too busy to see them. The recombinants return and—"
"My capture?"
Norm fumbled. "That's not the whole reason, Spider."
"But it is the reason. The Omatikaya moved on because they thought they were compromised… You're here because of me, aren't you?"
"We couldn't sustain High Camp forever."
The head kept shaking. "And the avatars?"
"We gave them a proper Omatikaya funeral."
"This is all my fault…"
"It wasn't your fault Quaritch captured you," Norman insisted. "He's responsible for all this, not you."
"I should never have gone there. I should have stayed. I should have told—" He shut up his lips. This time, it was Norm who patted the back. His tight face only loosened with his next question. "How is— How is Kiri?"
When the man saw those blue eyes quivering with heartache, he could read between the lines. "Spider, you're in love with her, aren't you?"
A hand came up to streak the evidence away. "Is it that obvious?"
"I suspected it for a while."
He chuffed. "Well, it wouldn't have gone anywhere anyways. She just saw me as a friend."
"No. She didn't."
"What are you talking about?"
"She told me, Spider."
The body bolted upright.
"She told me just before I left. She loves you too."
"W-What? She said that?" He gripped Norman in his excited rush. "She told you she loves me?"
"In a full confession. I think she was carrying it for so long, it just came gushing out."
Spider's eyes skipped, his lusty heart jumped, but then his happiness began flitting away. "Why didn't she ever tell me...?"
"She was afraid her parents wouldn't approve."
The hands let go, and Miles, in his elucidation, stared at the wall and everything beyond. "Because I can't give her a family…"
"You know, it didn't matter to her? You were still her choice."
He was in disbelief. Norman was confirming, too late, that the very happy ending he longed for, the one that was openly mocked, was actually within his reach if he had just… The broken man cupped his face, his view falling to the spiritually dead ground.
The brother-in-arms rubbed the shoulder. "I know what it feels like. Take it from an old hermit who's been holding the torch for a lost love for the past sixteen years."
Spider's fingers migrated away from the windows of his soul, allowing him to see into his comforter. "Thanks, man, but…you and Trudy still…got together, you know? Before…" he didn't finish out of respect. He didn't want to be bitter, but it was difficult.
"True…" He swallowed. "But if I had the option, I would trade in those moments, and be separated for a lifetime, if it meant knowing she was happy and alive somewhere else."
"I don't even know that…"
"I do. I'll have you know she's in a place that suits her perfectly. Kiri's with the Tawkami."
"The Tawkami people? Why?"
"They took in the Omatikaya. All of Jake's family is living there now."
"Huh? Why would they take in a whole clan?"
"Kiri arranged it with the olo'eyktan."
"Arranged?" It was the way Norman's left brow twitched that Spider detected he was hiding something. "Norm, what did Kiri do? Norm?"
"Please don't make me say it, Spider."
"They're going to be a mated pair, aren't they?" he shouted upon standing.
"Spider, listen. Kiri made this choice herself, and she's doing it to protect a lot of people. She's doing what's right."
"What's right?" he scoffed, disgusted to the hilt with adults. "What is it with you people who think doing 'what's right' means throwing your life away? Norm, how could you let Kiri do something like that? Why didn't you do anything to stop her?"
"It was her choice, Spider."
"You said I was her choice."
The elder stood up and looked down at the riled youth. "Spider, you need to follow your own advice and hold it together. Both you and Kiri are making sacrifices. Now, I'm sure she would do everything in her power to be there for you just as you would her, but you have to remember Bridgehead still exists. And this city is a threat that will destroy the both of you if you try anything rash." The shaved head drooped, and the shoulders were gently patted. "I know it's hard, bud, but you can get through this. At least you have the comfort in knowing she's going on to a good life."
"She will," Spider confirmed, then pulled away from the sagacious hands. "I have to go."
"So soon?"
"I need to do some thinking," he mumbled while taking up his EXO pack.
"Alright. Well, you know where to find me…" Norman weakly reminded. He helplessly watched his only kin get ready to depart when Spider looked back at him with an indeterminable expression.
"Thanks for everything, Norm. Stay out of trouble, okay?"
"You too."
One last half-smirk was flicked, and Spider was gone.
Night had completely fallen on Moore's Garden. Grass crunched under the lovelorn Pandoran as he paced about the courtyard, his body like a leaf in the wind with his mind, the churning tempest, dictating each sporadic and abstracted spin of his heel. The distant sound of a door closing had him freeze. He skulked behind a tree, but when no figure showed, the man relaxed. He instinctively sought out the rose bush that held his secret: a backpack, robbed and stuffed with all the things necessary for his escape, hidden under the red blooms of love. He was going to get her back. He was going to fix his mistake. Where they would go, the Pandoran didn't know, so long as it was far away—to return to that secret place only they knew and fulfil their love, holding out in the wild for as long as they could make their forbidden union last, for one day with his beloved was more glorious than a lifetime without; a miserable night in a rainy jungle—if it was in her arms—was heaven compared to the present hell of luxury. For her, he would surmount whatever obstacles, be they laid by men or gods. He would win back their connection and never again allow it to be severed. At last, he appreciated that they had already formed the tsaheylu—each moment shared, a new tendril entwined. The reality was that she had become such a permanent fixture in his consciousness that he was no longer him but hers, a mere extension bereft of purpose and aching to be repossessed by her once more. It was in their very natures to fall in love despite nature's law; the barrier of stars that separated their species was crossed against all odds, but it was meant to happen—he was always meant to fall in love with her.
Eventually, he ceased pacing, and, wanting assurance that this was the right decision, his eyes implored the great father above.
"Spider?"
He whipped around aghast, then breathed, for it was the one he summoned. "La'ang… You came…"
"Because you called me up in the dead of night, sounding like your fixin' to shoot yourself if I don't come running! Now, what the hell is going on?"
"You brought Gloria?
"Yes." Quaritch snarled. "I had to spend the past hour just to get clearance for a night flight. I don't bother with bureaucracy for just anyone, so whatever's going on, it better be serious."
Spider rubbed his head, utterly appreciative to see his recombinant. "It is… You have no idea what I've been going through. I— No, we need to make this quick."
"Yes, we do." He bobbed after a sip of air. "So why are you having a panic attack?"
Spider retrieved his backpack and brought it over his shoulder. "I need you to drop me off at the borders of the Tawkami village. They're a Na'vi clan that lives to the southeast of the Hallelujah Mountains in an area called the Tryphosa Basin. I have to go there."
"You expect me to smuggle you out of the city to a goddamn Na'vi village?" Feeling like the idiot he was, Quaritch pulled away.
"La'ang, I'm serious. I found out tonight Kiri loves me back, and because of what I did, she's going to be married off to the Tawkami olo'eyktan—their chief. I can't let that happen! I know you warned me I'd be throwing my life away, but I'm sorry. I have to fix my mistake. I'm flying away with her. You just need to drop me off on your ikran, and from there, I'll find my way to Kiri. And you won't have to worry about me ever again."
The giant was very still and utterly quiet for the whole confession.
"You want me to be happy?" Spider challenged. "This is how you can help me!"
Quaritch raised his brow; his lip partly hung out as he nodded methodically. "You really think so?"
"Yes!" He exhaled loudly. "I'm dying in this city! I can't live without her. I don't care how short my life will be out there. She's worth it. You have no idea how worth it. I love her."
The statuesque servant of HAF nodded again with well-thought-out deliberation. "I see…"
He wanted to cry out with joy. "I knew you would. I knew… I knew deep down…you'd understand."
Those yellow eyes went impishly from the grass to the man before him. "Oh…" He smirked. "I do." His boot rose, and with a harsh and swift plunge, he pinned Spider to the ground.
"Gah!"
"You've pushed me too far, kid! I've been too soft on ya." He screwed his heel into the chest. "You're a man now, and it's high time you learn things the hard way!"
The human stared with wide, petrified eyes at the figure, rendered black by the brightness of Polyphemus. He couldn't even move his body, let alone resist the hand coming down to snatch his collar. The recom drew him up and tossed him full into a cypress tree, and branches snapped under Spider as he rolled down its length.
Quaritch came again.
The young warrior attempted to fight back, but his punch was caught in the giant's fist. The Marine held him in place and delivered a controlled right hook into his chest, then another and another. When the brutality was over, Spider was yanked by the arm and hurled for a second time.
Sharp yells erupted out of the man, who found himself lodged in a rose bush, with every unforgiving thorn lacerating his flesh.
Miles Quaritch took up his breather as he stepped over, unphased by the cries of pain—he had heard them before. Without any regard for how excruciating it would be, he then gripped Spider's leg and dragged him out.
The writhing Pandoran, now coated in blood and beheaded roses, lay moaning on the grass when his attacker crouched over him. "The only reason you're not dead," the voice callously spoke, "is because I'm holding back." Socorro's eyes were half shut from the scratches across his swollen lids, but he still saw the colonel, casually breathing from his apparatus and escalating to a menacing stance.
Quaritch dropped his mask, gave the twitching body a once-over, then assessed he'd recover soon enough before dismissing himself from the suffocating dome, his ears not even reacting to the utter agony sounding off behind him.
Heavy boots tramped the earth in one recombinant's bitter march back to his cabin, the very air around him being poisoned by his foulness. He had been robbed of his rest for the most infantile of reasons, so the old spirit was understandably grouchy. The quaint wood lodgings were starting to pass him when he ended at his, set a hand on the bannister, and glared down at the steps. "Why are you on my porch?"
CJ bolted up in a start. "I'm sorry, sir."
"You haven't answered my question," he droned.
She tilted her head down; she was still in her nightwear of chequered boxers and a tank top. "I came by to talk to you, but you were out, so I waited."
"That you did." He inhaled irritably. He flicked his finger up, and Casey climbed the steps to where she awaited him on the porch. He squared off with her, hands on his hips and lips locked in a pout. "Alright," he said upon settling into his stance. "What is it?"
"I..." She looked away, briefly losing her resolve, before finding it again. "I want to retire."
This actually surprised him. "You want to retire? Why?"
"Well, sir… It's—" She inhaled. "It's Qiáo, sir. He needs someone to be there for him. I can't do that if I stay in service. If anything were to happen to me, it would be that much harder for him when he finally wakes up."
His head cocked. "Oh?"
"He… He confessed to me before the accident."
"You're saying Zhâng loves you?"
"Yes, sir."
Quaritch paused to wonder why that damnable four-letter word was besetting him so much of late. "Alright, then quit and be there for Zhâng. Is that all?"
Casey blinked at him; all nervousness was gone and was quickly being replaced with offence. "Hell, yeah, that's it!" she snarked. "It's not like I've been up all night thinking about this. Or waiting for you this whole time, worried sick about this choice and wanting your advice only to have you blow me off! You're an asshole, you know that?"
She stormed past him, but his sly arm caught the offended woman, spun her around, and held her in place. Quaritch didn't say anything as he stared into her eyes with only a single thought—an impulse that he acted upon. It lasted for as long as he could reasonably allow it, after which he pulled out, with his chest heaving and unable to believe what he just did. It went against everything he told himself, but the act of her walking away triggered something in him.
CJ walked her fingers off his arms and stepped out of his releasing grip.
"It's still Zhâng?" he said to the floor.
Her lids fluttered on the same floorboard, but only for a moment; then, with a cock of her head, after it finally became clear, she did the only sensible thing—she belted him. "No s***, it's still Zhâng! Goodnight, sir."
Quaritch eventually wandered back into his cabin, but he didn't win back his sleep.
