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In the immediate aftermath, all they could do was breathe.
Quaritch was gone. He’d thrown himself backwards, finding death to be more appealing than whatever fate would await him if he’d chosen to accept Jake’s offer. A now familiar rush of frustration sat comfortably in the back of Jake’s mind. He’d been loyal to Quartich, once accepting the carrot he’d dangled and lapping up anything he was told like a good little grunt. That had been a lifetime ago, now.
The worst thing was, if Quaritch came back - if he’d somehow survived the fall - Jake wouldn’t even be surprised. It was too late for that. Their lives had turned into a twisted dance with the man, with every new turn costing them something else.
Jake tightened his hold on Neytiri. His wife, in turn, burrowed deeper in his arms. Sensing their movement, Tuktirey squeezed her arms tighter, the grip she had around Jake’s neck bordering on uncomfortable. He didn’t care, too relieved that she was alive to do so.
He freed one of his arms from Neytiri’s embrace and reached around, wrapping his daughter up and effortlessly lifting her around to his front. Neytiri accepted the new addition with ease, shifting slightly so that Tuk didn’t jostle the baby in the sling.
It wasn’t hard for Jake to put two and two together. The look in Neytiri’s eyes confirmed what he feared, but knew to be true.
His chest twinged with an ache of loss that had become an old friend over the years.
Ronal had been the only woman far enough along to go into birth during the battle and deliver a baby as hearty as the one in Neytiri’s arms, healthy despite how small it was. Little hands were clenched into fists, and newborn trills escaped the baby’s mouth as they slept.
Neytiri was subconsciously responding to the newborn’s trills; their youngest child may be well beyond the infant stage, but your body didn’t forget how to respond to a baby seeking comfort. Jake could feel a familiar purr, one that he’d use to lull all of their children to sleep as infants, threatening to escape from his chest.
Rather than fight it, he let it happen. The baby was already asleep, comforted by Neytiri, but Tuk was awake and currently locked in Jake’s grip. She showed no signs of moving anytime soon, and Jake didn’t want to give her up. At the familiar purr of her father, Tuk went boneless in his arms, a trill of her own breaking off into an exhausted whimper.
Jake shifted her so that he could cup the back of her head with one of his hands. He dropped one, two, and a third kiss to her forehead before shifting his gaze back to Neytiri. She was watching Tuk, her mouth pinched downwards in sad resignation.
Their youngest. Seven years old, and already exposed to such horrors. Just the thought of her being held by Quaritch and Varang was enough to turn his stomach, so he didn’t linger on it for his own sanity.
“What’s their name?” Jake asked after the baby, forcibly ridding himself of thoughts of his wife and youngest being held hostage.
Neytiri lifted her hand from where she held it against Tuk’s back, a grounding, comforting touch. She gently tilted the sling down, showing the baby.
“She is Pril.”
“She’s beautiful,” Jake murmured. She really was. The tanhì on her face was almost identical in pattern to Ronal’s, and the sight of it made his breath stutter in his throat. Did Tonowari know that his daughter still lived?
He had, no doubt, felt Ronal die. Neytiri was always present, in Jake’s soul, in the back of his mind. Even when they weren’t connected by tsaheylu, he could feel her. If she died, and that connection was severed, it wouldn’t matter how far she was. Jake would know. He’d know before he saw the body, and he would spend the rest of his life dying, waiting to be with her once more. Even thinking about the hypothetical was enough to make his throat close.
Once again, he forced the thought from his mind. They’d gotten lucky. Jake let his gaze track over his wife’s face. She copied him, no doubt thinking the same, tracking every injury she could see with a critical eye. His leg was screaming at him, and would definitely need to be seen to, but Jake was content to ignore it for now.
Finally, Neytiri nodded, satisfied that his injuries weren’t too severe. Her eyes fell to Tuk, next, who was unharmed outside of a few scrapes and bruises. He copied his wife and let his gaze fall to the rest of the children, bleeding and battered, but alive.
Kiri and Spider were huddled together on the ground, limbs entangled. It was still so disconcerting to see Spider breathing freely without a mask. One of his arms was resting against Neytiri’s leg, and Jake shouldn’t have been surprised about it, but he was.
Neytiri had accepted the boy, had told him she Saw him. Still, seeing his wife tolerate the physical touch was going to take some getting used to.
Both children offered them smiles as Neytiri and Jake checked them over. Exhausted, but triumphant in the fact that they’d won. For now.
Lo’ak was close enough that Jake felt his knee brushing against his shoulder. He still held the gun that Jake had given him, knuckles tight and hand shaking with the force of his grip. His gaze was distant, locked onto the sky as if he expected an enemy to descend.
Jake cleared his throat, and when that didn’t work, called his son’s name. Lo’ak swung his head down and stared at Jake’s outstretched hand in confusion.
“Dad?”
“The gun, boy,” Jake said, as softly as he could. Lo’ak lifted the gun, surprised. He’d clearly not realised he was holding it so intensely.
“Oh.”
He offered it into Jake’s waiting hand, and once it was safe on the ground, he reached out once more and took Lo’ak’s wrist in a gentle grasp. It was so tiny in comparison to his hand. Jake ran his thumb back and forth over the skin of his son’s wrist, easing him down to the ground to join the huddle.
Slowly, almost tentatively, Lo’ak placed his hand on top of Jake’s, and then he collapsed onto his knees and leaned his head on Jake’s shoulder.
The thought of his son being tentative with him hit him like a spear in his gut, but Jake knew it was warranted. He’d caused it, and he was the one who had to fix it. He knew he’d projected his own guilt onto his son, and that a simple apology wasn’t going to heal the wound. But Jake would apologise, and he would fix it. As soon as they were back safe on the ground, not on a floating island, in the middle of the flux con.
“I love you, Lo’ak.” Jake muttered the words, hoping they were enough for now. He pressed a kiss to the top of his son’s head, same as he had with Tuktirey.
After a few seconds, Lo’ak tightened his grip on Jake’s hand. “I love you, Dad.”
The words made Jake’s eyes close, an exhale of pure relief leaving his body in a rush.
He had no idea how long they all sat there, battered but breathing, but Jake wouldn’t feel safe until he and Neytiri had moved all of their children back to the ground. He was unsure if their marui had survived, but he just wanted to get them off of this island.
The expression on Neytiri’s face echoed his thoughts. They needed to get Pril back to her family. She began to usher the children up, touching each of them on their heads, their shoulders, their arms. Reassuring herself that they were alive.
Kiri and Lo’ak had bonded with new ikran while they’d been back at High Camp. It had been a stressful afternoon for both of them. Kiri had chosen her first ikran simply by asking it to be her friend - their bond ran deep.
Lo’ak, on the other hand, had very vocally blamed himself for the death of his ikran. He’d panicked when his comms had burned, and had thought the best way for him to help was to fight. He’d cried in Neytiri’s arms after the first flight had sealed the new bond. The sight of it had reminded Jake of when their son was younger. He always felt everything so strongly, and that hadn’t changed.
It meant that they had transportation, though. Neytiri would be taking Pril, and from the way Kiri had already manhandled Spider under her arm, he would be flying with her.
Lo’ak moved to hover by his mother. “I’ll come with you, Mom.” He gestured to his ikran. “I want to check on Tsireya.”
He sounded scared as he said it. Realisation flooded in waves; Jake had no idea who they’d lost. His son was scared that Tsireya hadn’t made it. The idea that Tonowari might have lost more than just his mate - that the man himself might be dead - was staggering.
Jake forced himself to his feet, Tuk tightening her grip in a wordless request to stay in his arms. His leg was on fire, but he adjusted his grip, holding her easily, and placed a hand on Lo’ak’s shoulder. “We’ll talk later, okay?”
Lo’ak nodded. At least it gave Jake time to put his thoughts together. He wanted to apologise properly - didn’t want to put his foot in his mouth again and blurt out something he didn’t mean.
That just left Tuktirey. Judging by the iron grip she had on him, the way she had yet to lift her head out from the crook of his neck, she would be flying back with him.
“First of the kids to ride the mighty Toruk, Tuk-Tuk?” Jake said, purposefully keeping his voice light. “Your siblings are going to be jealous.”
Tuk nodded, but didn’t respond beyond that. Jake’s eyes shot to Neytiri, who was looking back at them. She sighed, looking resigned once more, and Jake nodded. He knew what was coming; he knew his youngest inside and out.
She was the most adaptable of the children. Tuk and Lo’ak had taken to reef life like ducklings taking their first swim. But she was young, and had faced an onslaught of trauma over the last few weeks. Hell, over the last year. She might’ve been kept safe and away from the fighting at High Camp, but she still had to see her parents fly into battle every other day.
He and Neytiri had been keeping a close eye on her, especially since they’d lost Neteyam. Jake was entirely unsurprised that she’d shut down now. From what he’d heard of Kiri and Spider’s hurried explanation, she’d spent a part of the battle on her own, and had then been captured.
She was only seven. The reminder struck Jake like a physical blow.
He tightened his hold on her, rubbing a soothing hand up and down her back.
“Okay, Tuk. You don’t have to talk, it’s okay.” Jake murmured reassurances as he walked. Neytiri’s shoulders relaxed as he shot her a steady smile. He had this under control; they’d been expecting it to happen for a while.
A familiar shriek split the air as Toruk crested into sight. In response, the other ikran shifted nervously as everyone mounted. They wasted no time diving out of the beast’s sight, and Jake couldn’t help but snort as Toruk rumbled in a way that would be threatening to anyone else, but to him could only ever be smug.
As he approached, Toruk’s giant head tilted as his gaze locked onto Tuk. Jake stepped up and only removed his hand from Tuk’s back to form tsaheylu with his brother.
“Mine.” The bond in place, Jake placed his hand on Tuk’s back once more, clearly conveying his meaning.
Toruk rumbled again, the sound echoing deep from his chest and resonating in Jake’s soul.
Ours.
The beast lowered one of his wings, giving Jake a path to mount without jostling Tuk or his leg in any way. Despite herself, she had been unable to resist eyeing Toruk in awe as he accepted her into the fold.
Jake could feel it, echoing down the bond. His protective instincts as a father were being thrown back, possessive and fierce. Jake loved Toruk, even if he feared what they were capable of together. And that love was returned; Toruk revelled in it. Jake was his, was a part of him. And Tuk was Jake’s, so that meant she belonged to the beast, too.
The logic was simple, but Jake was grateful for it. The idea that his children were perceived possessively by Toruk because of their relation to him should’ve worried him, but it just filled him with a deep sense of relief. His children were guarded by myths and legends.
Tuk was silent on the flight back, seemingly too shocked by the reality that she was flying on the back of Toruk to remember her earlier misery. Jake knew it would come back, though. He kept up a string of mindless chatter to his youngest as he flew them to what remained of Awa’atlu.
Jake didn’t take the scenic route; the destruction was so grand, and he didn’t want Tuk to see any more than she already had. The flight was short, and he landed further away than the rest of the family. Toruk’s size meant that he couldn’t easily land where the other ikran had, especially since there was a crowd.
He kept Tuk in his arms, swinging down easily with one hand and disconnecting the bond with a grateful tap on Toruk’s neck. Tuk, still not talking, waved at him as he rumbled a final time and then flew somewhere else to make himself comfortable.
Jake had begged him not to eat any ikran, and he’d begrudgingly accepted.
They were close enough to the rest of the clan, though, that Jake could make out what was happening. People were mourning over the bodies of their loved ones. He hesitated just at the edge of the crowd, conscious of his youngest in his arms. He didn’t want her to see that.
Tonowari was there, as were his two children. Neytiri stood watch over them as they wrapped themselves around Ronal, sobbing. Tonowari held Pril close to his chest with a single hand. His eyes were closed, tears streaming down his face as he cradled the body of his wife with the other.
Jake tried to push Tuk’s face back into his neck, attempting to shield her from something she’d already seen time and time again. She fought it, though, her gaze locked onto her siblings.
They were kneeling over the body of a boy. One of their friends. Rotxo, Jake remembered the boy introducing himself to his children, a warm smile on his face as he explained he would help teach them to adapt to life in the reef. His family had stepped back, allowing the three teenagers a moment to grieve over their boy.
He was younger than Neteyam.
Tuk’s breath hitched at the sight. Then, as if she remembered the events over the last few weeks in a sudden rush, she burst into tears.
She looked at him as she heaved sobs, fat tears rolling down her face, and Jake’s heart broke.
“I know, baby girl. I’m so sorry.” He turned away from the crowd, limping away until they were tucked behind the wall of a surviving marui, uttering meaningless reassurances to his wailing daughter.
Jake wished he could say he was surprised. Tuk was so little, and she’d already lost so much. His chest ached for her. He crouched down with some difficulty, tightening his hold on her, whispering to her as she sobbed into his neck.
“I’m here, ma’yawntutsyìp.” He rubbed her back, unsurprised that she began to hiccup with the force of her sobs.
“I saw you fall,” Tuk wailed, batting her hands against his shoulders frantically. “And then - and -”
“I’m here, baby girl. Feel that?” Jake gently took one of her hands and held it against his chest. His heartbeat thumped reassuringly against his daughter’s hand, and he hid a wince as she dug her nails in, as if she wanted to get closer to it. “I’m still here.”
“They hurt Mama, and I couldn’t do anything.”
Whenever Tuk cried, her voice pitched almost painfully as she got breathless, and Jake’s heart hurt as she forced the words out through her heaving breaths. Normally, it was endearing. Right now, it made Jake want to cry with her.
“Mama is fine, baby. We both saw her, remember? She’s going to be back soon.” He didn’t remind her of what Neytiri was currently doing; Ronal had been fond of Tuk, had taken their daughter under her wing and had acted as somewhat of a mentor. The reminder that the woman was dead was the last thing she needed right now.
Jake kept her hand pressed over his chest and breathed deeply. “Follow me, baby girl. In and out.”
“Dad,” Tuk cried, heartachingly miserable, but Jake kept breathing. He exaggerated his breaths, giving her a clear guide to copy, and soon, she did.
It took a while, but her breathing eventually settled, and her sobs quieted slightly. She still looked miserable, tears streaming down her face, her eyes puffy. Her ears were pressed flat to her head.
Jake let go of her hand to wipe away the tears with his thumb.
“Today was awful, right?”
Tuk nodded, leaning into his hand. Her cheek smushed as she did, baby fat still very present in her face. Jake’s heart hurt.
He leaned down and pressed their foreheads together. “You were so brave, Tuk. You’re the bravest kid I know.”
Tuktirey leaned back, looking dubious. “But I was so scared,” she replied, the reminder of the fear causing a fresh wave of tears.
“That’s why you’re the bravest kid I know! You’re braver than Mama, I think. Definitely braver than me.”
His daughter shook her head, but Jake was undeterred, dropping a kiss to her cheek. “I know it’s been so scary lately, ma’yawntutsyìp, and I’m so sorry. I’d make it all go away if I could. But we’re always going to be here to protect you, even when you’re an adult, and you’re better at archery than Mama.”
He probably shouldn’t be promising he wouldn’t be killed - especially after being captured the way he was. But it was what she needed to hear.
It was silent for a moment, the only sound being Tuk’s sniffles as she digested what Jake had said. Finally, her eyes widened. “You - you think I’ll be better than Mama?”
Jake grinned.
“Do I think? I know so, kid.”
“How do you know?”
Jake scoffed, playfully. “Toruk Makto doesn’t give away his secrets.”
Tuk giggled wetly before she relaxed in his embrace, finally worn out. Jake went back to rubbing her back, adjusting her in his hold as if she were a baby once more. She was still small enough for it. She’d always be his baby, anyway.
“It’s okay to cry, Tuk-Tuk,” he murmured. “I’m here whenever you want to, okay?”
“Okay,” Tuk whispered back.
Jake let himself purr, low in his chest, as he had before in response to Pril. Tuk was out in minutes, breathing against his neck and lax in his arms. He stayed where he was, rocking her back and forth in his arms.
It didn’t take long for Neytiri to find them. She was holding some medicinal herbs, already ground into a paste, and a wrap for his leg. His leg throbbed with an unwelcome reminder of his injury. At the sight of her, Jake's shoulders slumped in relief.
“They okay?” He asked, under his breath, not wanting to risk waking Tuk.
Neytiri nodded. “They will be,” she replied.
Her hand stroked gently over Tuk’s hand, careful not to wake her. Her other hand cupped Jake’s face. She wiped a tear he didn’t even realise had fallen.
“Is she okay?” Neytiri asked.
Jake smiled, suddenly exhausted.
“She will be.” He returned. Neytiri’s lips tilted up in a brief smile before it fell, the events of the day too much to let it stay for long.
She still wore his handprint, painted proudly on her chest. Jake’s lips trembled at the sight, everything too much for him all of a sudden.
He couldn’t help but lean forward and press his forehead to hers. Jake breathed in deeply, letting the scent of his wife wash over him. She was alive. He closed his eyes and fought the tears that threatened, not wanting Tuk to be disturbed if his shoulders started shaking.
Neytiri’s thumb, still cupping his face, traced his lips before she dropped a gentle kiss to them. She did it once more before she pulled back and moved her hand to wrap it around Tuk’s. Tuk gripped her mother’s hand back, still sleeping.
Jake looked down at their youngest daughter, the relief that she was still alive to be able to cry about the events of today warring with the fact that he despised the trauma she had from it, and hated himself even more for not being able to prevent it.
“I told her she's going to be better than you at archery. It helped calm her down.”
An exhausted, breathy laugh escaped Neytiri. Jake loved her so much it hurt. His wife lifted Tuk’s hand, holding onto hers so tightly, and pressed a kiss to it.
“Good. I will make sure of it.”