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"I keep my head high; I got my wings to carry me. I don't know freedom; I want my dreams to rescue me. I keep my faith strong; I ask the Lord to follow me. I've been unfaithful—I don't know why you call on me."
—J. Cole, 2014 Forest Hills Drive, ("Apparently")
The jungle screamed.
Gunfire cracked in Jake’s ears. He could smell the metal of his rifle, the cordite in the air, and the sweat-soaked cloth sticking to his back and his thighs that no longer moved. The weight of his own useless body was unbearable. He was dragging himself through the dirt, through the heat of Venezuela—blood in his mouth, down his legs. The sting of it on his tongue was sharp and real. So was the silence that followed. The silence of his brothers-in-arms dropping one by one. No medevac. No rescue. Just burning lungs and the sound of his heartbeat in his ears.
And then—
A sharp shift. A suffocating black turned to a beautiful, baby blue sky, then there was carnage. Smoke and fire. The screaming.
Tsu’Tey was falling.
He was falling from the sky, bullet-ridden, the light in his eyes dimming as the clouds opened up behind him. The sting of betrayal, of failure, was fresh on Jake’s hands. His voice was screaming something, but he couldn’t understand it. Tsu’Tey lay before him, riddled with holes, leaking bright red against his cerulean skin—out his nose, flaking on his lips, and running down his chin. His chest was rising shallowly. His eyes—his eyes—were wide, so fucking yellow, imploring.
“It is the way,” Tsu’Tey rasped, blood staining his teeth. “And it is good.”
“No—no—no, I—I can’t kill you. I—” love you, Jake choked, his hands fumbling for anything but the dagger.
...But it was already in his grip.
And Neytiri was there—barely a silhouette in the background, too far to stop him. He could hear her sobs. Then those students—Jake couldn’t see their faces. Too far to stop him. Jake’s hands trembled as he drove the blade into Tsu’Tey’s chest, through that too-beautiful, too-still body. Warmth bled out over his fingers, and he wept. Tsu’Tey’s body arched, then softened. His eyes—god, his eyes—turned glassy. Dull. He was gone.
Jake fell back, howling.
Then he was in the funeral tent. It smelled like sweet sap and incense. Tsu’Tey lay still, unnaturally still, on a bed of soft moss. His chest was covered in a rich orange feather chest piece—not one of his choosing. Artsut had insisted on it. Jake remembered the argument. She didn’t want the clan to see the holes. Didn’t want anyone to remember him as torn, as broken. So she covered him, as if beauty could overwrite truth.
Even if a simple truth was how beautiful Tsu’Tey even looked in death.
Jake saw it anyway. He could still feel those holes, could still see the largest one—his doing—every time he blinked. Tsu’Tey’s ears were pierced with golden dangling earrings—a belated gift from Artsut. Small flowers, picked by the hands of the village’s youngest, surrounded him—bright petals from kids who hadn’t even known what they were mourning. Bright petals against paling blue skin. In twisted obsidian hair with jades. It all felt too soft for a warrior who had died in pain, for them, for Jake. Too delicate for the violence he endured.
Though, it suited him—Tsu’Tey; suited him so fucking much.
Jake dropped to his knees beside him. His own hands were shaking, aching from the phantom grip of a knife he had never wanted to hold. That flicked in and out of his hands. Bloodied hands, empty. Then the dreams—
"Five days," Eywa had said. Five. Jake waited. He counted.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Five.
The dirt remained still. No gasp for breath. No trembling hand reaching up. No screams at dusk of Tsu’Tey crawling out—no Neytiri rushing to him and dragging him. No eyes opening. Nothing.
Jake screamed at the soil, his fists pounding into the earth until his knuckles cracked. He scraped at the dirt and felt many hands grabbing at him and pulling him away—
NO—Eywa promised five days. Five days.
Tsu’Tey was gone.
Jake woke up with a ragged inhale, like he’d just broken the surface of water. His lungs had a burn to them, and his heart raced. He wasn’t in a tent—he was in a nest—their nest. Cool, quiet, safe. It didn’t feel like it. Not yet.
His ears were pinned tight to his skull. His tail thrashed with panic. It was too real, too vivid—he could still feel Tsu’Tey’s warm blood on his hands. Still see those andalusite eyes, asking to die. He was scared but accepting. Still feel the twitch, then stillness, as he pushed the knife deep and gave Tsu'Tey's soul to the Almother. Still see dirt that never moved.
He reached out blindly, searching.
His hand found warmth. A body. Familiar curves. Breathe, steady and deep.
Tsu’Tey.
Jake rolled over with desperate urgency, pressing his hand to Tsu’Tey’s chest, feeling the strong thump of his heart between a milk-swollen chest where centimeters underneath layed a star-shaped scar. Still alive. Still here. His fingers moved lower, trembling, until they rested against the gentle swell of Tsu’Tey’s stomach.
A sharp kick greeted him, like a miniature protest from the life within. A ‘hey–daddy–I’m–alive–I–exist’ kick.
Jake sucked in a breath and let out a sound that was half a laugh, half a sob. His hand stayed there, spread wide across that stretched skin, grounding him.
Tsu’Tey stirred slightly at the contact, his long lashes fluttering, but he didn’t wake. Only a huff as he scooted into Jake’s space. Jake leaned in, resting his forehead just above where his hand lay, as if he could breathe in his mate’s life through the skin.
“You came back to me,” he whispered, hoarse. “You stayed. You’re here. You are here.”
Jake closed his eyes and just listened. To the heart. To the soft sigh followed by the breathing. To the murmur of the outside. The soft, rhythmic thump of their baby’s sporadic movements.
He stayed like that for a long time, anchored by the life he nearly lost. What he would never take for granted because Eywa wasn’t a goddess of giving; She was one of balance.
✦
It comes in pieces:
The sharp metallic smell of blood mixing with rain in Guatire.
Tom's file being handed to him like that made it real.
Neytiri’s hand imprints on his back, and Takuk pressed his chest during his Uniltaron—the first time he truly felt Eywa.
Tsu’Tey's body collapsed on the grass, blood pouring over like paint.
Jake sat up slowly, not to wake them.
His hair dangled over his shoulder as he leaned forward, forearms on his knees. His back ached. His heart aches worse.
✦
The thing is, Jake couldn’t tell him.
He couldn’t tell him.
Not when Tsu’Tey was glowing, round with child, and walking with that proud, firm waddle that made Jake ache with both love and fear. Not after the celebration the clan had thrown, excited with the new life—the bond between their Tsahik and Olo’eyktan as a new and beautiful beginning. Not after Tsu’Tey had finally accepted his mother’s exclusion of his existence when it was not up to her standards—again. Artsut was less than happy with him marrying the sawtute; she would have preferred Tsu’Tey killing him and taking the title as Olo’eyktan. Maybe Tsu’Tey remaining dead altogether than this. It was always what she wanted. Ateyo was not happy about it, but he wasn’t Artsut-level prissy.
Tsu’Tey had just been dubbed Tsahik; Mo’at passed the mantle by letting Tsu’Tey cut their hands and letting their blood mingle—a pass of blood, an understanding of souls. Everyone was joyous—the Olo’eyktan had his balance.
Then came the reveal: Tsu’Tey wanted to tell the people closest to him the great news—he wanted to let Mo’at (who already knew), Eytukan, Neytiri, Arvok, Artsut, and Ateyo know he was expecting; that Eywa allowed a great joy to grow. So he started with the hardest—his parents.
Jake had left (Tsu’Tey wanted him to—only for his safety), but he waited outside the flap, arms crossed. Tsu’Tey sat on the woven mat, shoulders straight, hands on his knees. Ateyo had not spoken since the curtains shut. Artsut stood in the corner with arms crossed, her back to him. Her braids, tied high and neat—militant. Her shoulders squared. She looked like a statue—reminded Jake of his CO. “You did not even fight him.”
It was not a question.
Tsu’Tey blinked but said nothing.
“You did not challenge him,” she hissed, her voice rough with disbelief. “Not once. Not when he bonded with Toruk. Not even when the Elders gave their vote. Tsu’Tey, the elders want you—allow you—to become Olo'eyktan; take this, take this chance, and run! Eywa gave you the chance to come back, and you did not take it?!”
He exhaled through his nose. “I chose the clan—”
“You chose him.” Ateyo simplified.
That landed like a strike. Not cruel. Not loud. Just true.
“You chose the easier path,” Artsut spat, turning to face him. Her eyes burned like embers. Jake wanted to get up and pull his husband away, but he promised Tsu’Tey not to interfere—to wait. Didn’t mean he liked it whatsoever. “The one that, as thoses sawtutes say, closes doors. That binds your hands. You let that thing spit on our legacy. Eywa forbid if you let him put a child in you.”
Tsu’Tey’s jaw twitched. His belly fluttered—sick and protective.
“I am still warhead—Mother, I am Tsahik. I speak with Eywa, I speak with grandsempul, that is—”
“That is not the same,” Ateyo spoke suddenly. His voice, soft and quiet but final. Heavy. “You should have been Olo’eyktan. You were raised for it. You trained for it. We gave you everything. ” His golden eyes were steady on his son. “And now you have given it away. For nothing but—but a tawtute? ”
Jake understood that stung. Tsu’Tey, despite being Artsut’s fiery spirit and a reflection of her goals and ambitions, was more Ateyo. It took Jake several months (in training, in courting) to realize that Tsu’Tey resembled his father closely—he had the same eyes, a similarly shaped nose, and occasionally (though not always) showed the same patience. So seeing that familiar face filled with disappointment? Tsu’Tey’s hands clenched tightly. “But I have not, father— ”
“You did. When you stepped aside for—” And Artsut hissed, trying to collect herself. “ For him. When you did not demand your blood right. You are the grandson of Olo’ekyte Iftenä te Ahoäk Awtmäup’ite. The greatest hunter—the mightiest warrior of—”
“And what would that have done? What would that have earned us? Exile? Shame? ” Tsu’Tey stood now. Not angry. Not defiant. Just hurt. “A fractured clan? More blood? I chose peace. I chose healing. Acceptance.”
“You chose him,” Artsut repeated.
The bass in her voice now was a thing alive. It echoed. It stayed.
Jake could acknowledge that Artsut looks at him like he’s a storm that blew down her house; blew out her plans. Ateyo offered quiet nods but never really spoke to him without a buffer.
And all that happened because Tsu’Tey chose him.
And Tsu’Tey never got to tell his parents he was expecting—they obviously knew now; Tsu’Tey was showing—didn’t mean they acknowledged it.
Jake remembered the way Tsu’Tey stood tall when the clan elders whispered and scoffed at their bonding, their mating, then the reveal of a baby growing in Tsu'Tey's womb. Remembered the way Tsu’Tey didn’t flinch when Artsut refused to attend their first rite as Olo'eyktan and Tsahik, how he quietly braided a bead for her anyway—and tucked it into his belt out of sight.
And Jake? He stood there beside him, feeling like a thief.
Because Tsu’Tey gave up family and traditions for freedom, for independence, for love—for him.
And that’s something Jake—he could only cringe.
So Jake wanted Tsu’Tey’s final trimester to be stress-free. He wanted his husband to stay off his feet and to sleep more. Tsu’Tey was too fragile— to Jake, even if he was still planning hunts, the primary warhead (even though he currently volleyed the duties with Neytiri, Takuk, and Ateyo), still sparring with the young warriors, still sitting beside Mo’at and participating in the sacred rites of a Tsahik, as if he hadn’t spent the morning swearing as he vomited—but Jake didn’t want to risk it.
So, Jake kept it to himself. Kept so long that Tsu’Tey’s belly was now due—if not overdue by a few days.
But he should’ve known.
He was deep in sleep when Neytiri shook him awake, her voice firm and urgent: “Jake. Ma Jake, wake up. It is Tsu’Tey. His water broke!”
Jake shot up so fast his head cracked into the low branch of their nest. “What? ”
Neytiri grabbed his arm. “He went hunting. His water broke.”
Jake was already grabbing his bow, his knife sheath, and his belt. “Where—fuck—where is he?”
Neytiri pushed his bow away. “Takuk brought him back already. He just wants you.”
His heart shattered in his ribs as he ran.
Tsu’Tey was reclined against the woven leaf structure of the medicinal hut, braids twisted out of his face, beads clicking softly as he leaned down and breathed through a contraction. He was flushed and panting, belly super low and taut. Mo’at pressed a warm hand into his back, rubbing medicine, his expression tight with pain—but eyes alive.
“Tsyeyk—” Tsu’Tey hissed, though it was barely more than a growl. “Ma’Jake—”
“Fuck—I overslept,” Jake gasped, dropping to his knees beside him, one hand immediately settling on his thigh, the other cradling the side of his neck. “Why didn’t you wake me, baby? Why didn’t you say anything—?”
“I wanted spicy yerik stew,” Tsu’Tey said flatly—petulantly, if Jake could add—his ears back and tail slapping against the floor, then curling. “And you would have stopped me.”
Jake exhaled, laughing without humor, his forehead pressing to his mate’s shoulder as he felt his body tremble. Tsu’Tey, who had been waddling for days—had been hot and tired and grouchy because their baby was sitting in his pelvis and just making existence very hard—decided to guide a morning hunt. Jake didn’t even hear Tsu’Tey leave. He waited while Jake was deep in slumber, tired from a negotiation that had gone from last night and ventured into the morning for a craving. Didn’t even ask him to fetch it because he knew he was dead tired.
The last thing Jake remembered was the way Tsu’Tey had curled around him in the nest—warm, swollen, tail twitching when Jake rested a hand over the heavy curve of his belly. Jake had thought he was finally getting him to rest. Relax. Finally convincing him that carrying their son was enough. Because throughout these nine months, Tsu’Tey could not sit still—Mo’at said it was normal for hunters/hunteresses to want to hunt till the day they were pushing out life (that she and even Tsu'Tey's own mother were that way), but still.
He had no idea Tsu’Tey had packed a satchel—in his third trimester, aching and sore, when even breathing sometimes made him wince. “Damn right I would have.” A pause. Then, quieter: “You scared me.”
“I scare a lot—” Tsu’Tey grunted, exhaling as he rubbed the underside of his belly. Jake felt his tail lash; the baby was sitting super low now. “—your point?”
Jake kissed his neck and held him there. Another contraction hit, and Tsu’Tey shook, hunching in. Jake supported him, smoothing a hand over his belly as a midwife apprentice approached with herbs and warm broth. “He is not fully dilated; Elder Su’myi said we will wait. At least try to walk for a few hours, and we will check again. Until then, try to just drink broth—to ease.”
They didn’t attend dinner that night; they had it in their nest, only because Tsu’Tey was too sore to walk down, and Jake didn’t want to leave him—as much as Tsu’Tey told him to go for the people. The clan understood and left gifts for them, even if Tsu’Tey grumbled about it. Jake kissed him and never left his side.
✦
It was later at night. The darkness was impending, and if Jake were human, he probably wouldn’t be able to see as well as he did now. He grunted as he twisted around and felt for his mate—nothing. He opened his eyes and his ears went high: “Tey—Angel— ”
Tsu’Tey huffed. Everything smelled of mist and moss and brown sugar, and Tsu’Tey was pacing.
Jake watched from a distance at first—quietly, not interfering. He was seated just outside their space, but his eyes were locked on his mate’s movements with a worried crease in his brow. Because Tsu’Tey was not acting like himself.
He kept curling into himself. Half-pacing, half-crouching. Like a big cat too swollen for her den. Like he didn’t know whether to lie down or claw his way out.
And then—the sound.
A low, warbling, strained noise escaped Tsu’Tey’s throat. A quiet, heartbreaking meow—not like a soft chirp or a purr, but a fragile, strangled vocalization of I know what is wrong, and it is happening inside me.
Jake was on his feet instantly.
“Hey—hey, baby,” he murmured, stepping forward slowly, careful not to startle. “You okay? You need somethin’? Talk to me.”
Tsu’Tey didn’t answer.
He crouched on the branches low, both hands pressing into his thighs, nauseated, tail flicking hastily. His ears kept pinning back and lifting like he was unsure whether to fight or hide. His breathing was shallow. Not panicked—but focused. Distant. “Jake—Oe 'efu fpo tsivawm.” I want him to come out.
“I know, baby, I know…” Jake lowered himself beside him. Doesn’t touch, only offers his body close. “You want me to call Mo’at?”
Tsu’Tey whined, low in his throat. "Kehe."
“Anything I can do?”
A second meow bubbled up from deep in his chest. His tail flicked again. His fingers dug into his thighs. His belly visibly tightened, and he hunched over it with a slow, shaky exhale.
Jake’s heart lurched. “That a cramp?”
“…No,” Tsu’Tey finally whispered, voice hoarse. “Not like before. It is…pressing. I feel it more in my hips. Low. My thighs hurt—everything, Jake. I feel too big.”
“How long?”
Tsu’Tey blinked and let out a trill. “Since you closed your eyes—I did not want to disturb you.”
“You can wake me; you should.” Jake groaned. “You want to lie down, or you want more broth? You’ve walked enough, Angel.”
Tsu’Tey looked at him with those wide eyes and muttered, “I want to crawl into the earth and scream. My body—my body is not mine right now. Neteyam rests so low, I feel as if one more move, he will fall out.”
And Jake’s chest cracked wide open.
He slipped in behind him, finally reaching out—hands, slow, steady—pressing his palm to the small of Tsu’Tey’s back. Just warm weight. No pressure. Just presence.
“You are too warm, ma’txa,” Tsu’Tey sighed, but leaned back against him. Sinks. Melts. Another low meow shuddered out of him as Jake pressed a gentle kiss to the back of his neck.
“‘m sorry, baby,” Jake hummed, his voice quiet in his ear. “Is he comin’?”
Tsu’Tey didn’t answer right away.
Instead, he curled over himself once again, tail twitching, ears trembling. This time, Jake felt it—a little slide of liquid between his thighs. Just a trace. He kissed his cheek. Tsu’Tey had still been leaking amniotic fluid, but something of this was off. It was more than earlier—more than the amount Neytiri said broke.
Tsu’Tey panted and Neteyam pressed to his taut skin more—urgently, as if he was determined to prove he was the main offender. “…Jake. ”
“I’m here, I’m here,” Jake’s voice broke, and he moved around to kneel in front of him. “Hey, hey, look at me—look at me. You’re okay.”
“I am scared,” Tsu’Tey blurted, voice wavering. “What if—what if I am not right…right for our cub?” Like he was ashamed. “What if he does not come out—I am scary—what if he is scared of me? ”
Jake could only choke on a laugh. “There is no way you could not be right. Sweetheart, you’ll be fine—we’ll be fine. You are amazin’. Luckiest baby in the world, sweetheart. Me, on the other hand, I—”
Tsu’Tey smacked him weakly. “You need not flatter— ”
Jake smiled. His pretty, stubborn Oma. He stood up and kissed Tsu’Tey’s forehead. Then his cheeks. Then the tip of his nose. Another contraction rolled through his hips, and Tsu’Tey hissed this time, tail curling tight.
Jake shifted instantly, bracing Tsu’Tey with his body. “Lie back, baby.”
And in the quiet that followed, as Tsu’Tey panted through the cramp with Jake rubbing his back in slow circles, he chuffed again.
Helpless—Annoyed.
Jake smiled and pressed his lips to Tsu’Tey’s temple and chuffed back, “I got you, baby. Let it happen. I’m right here.” It was nearing midnight when Tsu’Tey finally went into labor—he woke Jake, panting and doing his best to keep his voice down. Jake rushed him to Mo’at, who quickly took them to the birthing chamber as Neytiri woke the midwives.
✦
The night Neteyam was born was a beautiful yet terrifying moment. He felt utterly exhausted from the chaos surrounding that evening. The responsibilities he would face after Neteyam's birth seemed overwhelming, as if he were being pulled in ten different directions. However, all those feelings faded in comparison to the fear he experienced as Tsu’tey went through labor to bring their son into the world.
Mo’at, Neytiri, Su’myi, the midwives, and Akeylong were all inside the chamber. Eytukan preferred to sit outside and didn’t enter until Neteyam was crowning, while Arvok kept pacing in and out. Artsut and Ateyo did not show up.
There were times when Tsu’Tey clawed at the moss beneath him, times when his breathing became wild and sharp. He was initially standing to push Neteyam out, holding onto supported vines, but then his legs shook so badly he had to crouch—Mo’at pressed behind him. There were times he hissed at Mo’at and swatted at Elder Su’myi. Jake never flinched, never left. He held his hand, rubbed his back—anything Tsu’Tey allowed through it—whispered praise and the future into his ear, pressed their foreheads together, connected their kurus, and rode the waves of pain as if it were his own. Tsu’Tey grunted, yelled, swatted, and hit as Neteyam came through crying, purple, and squirmy. Then Tsu’Tey had nearly bled out.
That night was one of the scariest nights of his life. Tsu'Tey, his mate, his other half, was too frail to even hold their newborn son.
Even so, that wasn’t the worst part.
No, the worst part was Arvok nearly attacking Neteyam—their vulnerable baby—the sheer panic that had gripped him when Tsu'Tey, still unconscious, had been so vulnerable, too weak to move, to stay awake.
Arvok charged at him. His eyes were full of rage, heat, and distrust. Distrust was an easy word to associate with Jake for Arvok. He distrusted Jake because he was a Skyperson, for the incident with Neytiri, for ‘making’ Tsu’Tey step down as Olo’eyktan and become Tsahmek/Tsahik by plaguing his big brother with a parasitic lifeform that had his brother limp—
There was a guttural crack as Jake was thrown back, the world rocking as Arvok tackled him, dragging, pummeling, and snarling. Tsu’Tey’s head lolled sideways, neck exposed, throat rising and falling in shallow gasps. His skin was pale and dried with blood, coating his thighs, sticky and dark where it pooled beneath him. He was not moving.
Tsu’Tey was limp, and Arvok was on top of Jake, dragging him and punching him, and Jake let it happen because Tsu’Tey’s head was tossed back, blood was coating his thighs, and his grip on Mo’at and the birthing straps had waned—
And Jake let it happen. He couldn’t see anything else. Couldn’t feel the fists on his face. Couldn’t feel the swelling. He could only hear the quiet click of Tsu’Tey’s teeth parting as he exhaled unevenly, the smallest sounds trembling on his lips—the midwives fussing to make Neteyam cry because he was curled in on himself and not making a noise.
Then another punch landed—Jake’s head snapped sideways. A ringing. His vision swam.
Hisses. Footsteps. Arms. Neytiri and Akeylong rushed in—a flurry of sleek limbs and snarled demands. There was a bark of rage. Screams burst around them like wildfire.
"You!" Arvok roared, his voice hoarse and raw. Neytiri grabbed his wrist; Akeylong wrapped his arms around his chest, pulling him back even as Arvok thrashed like a beast cornered and foaming. His eyes were bloodshot. Red. Teary.
Jake pressed his cheek; it was swollen and slick with spit or blood, he didn’t know. He touched it, fingers shaking.
"Arvok!"
"No!” Arvok's voice cracked like thunder. “This is his fault—my brother would not be dying because of him! You demons, all you do is take! Again, again, again! " Arvok's voice trembled with grief and fury as he unsheathed his dagger, launching himself at Jake once more. "No shame! You demons plant your seeds and poisons! You do not deserve—"
A cry erupted from the chamber, high-pitched and plaintive.
A cry erupted.
Wet. New. Tiny.
The baby.
The room froze.
“Mo’at—Oeyä ’itan? ” There was a collective sigh.
Jake remembered stumbling toward the sound. He couldn’t even see properly, but his body moved on instinct. Behind him, Arvok snarled, but Neytiri and Akeylong held him firm—Akeylong’s eyes filled with tears, his ears flattened.
Tsu’Tey stirred. Barely. His eyes fluttered. Rolled, unfocused. His tail twitched like a dead vine in the wind. The baby wailed again.
Tsu’Tey reached out a hand—for Neteyam, for Jake, for—
Jake dropped beside him, nuzzled into his face; he couldn’t purr, but fuck it, words would have to work. He kissed Tsu’Tey’s cheek, his eyes, his nose, and the mole under his eye, on the side of his lip, on his neck—then his mate’s lips: “Gorgeous, strong, so damn brave.”
Tsu’Tey tiredly faced Jake, his eyes heavy with exhaustion, but he smiled—his scent spiced a little with its usual cocoaness—this time heady, darker. Tsu’Tey pressed up, and Jake met him halfway. A small kiss, but fuck, it was everything.
“Ja—Jaake…” He slurred the syllables, barely audible. Jake pressed his forehead against Tsu’Tey’s.
“I’m here, baby.” That breathy, broken sound of his name? Yeah, he'd carry that for the rest of his life.
“You actually make cute babies.” Neytiri teased as she bent down and pressed Neteyam against Tsu’Tey’s chest. (It was to distract him from the pain of one of the elder midwives pressing onto his pelvis and forcing the placenta out.) Only because Tsu’Tey chirped at her, Jake leaned against Tsu’Tey’s side as everyone—Jake peered to the side as Arvok paced; his tail whipped like a snake, and his chest heaved. Watched him huff and tremble and look everywhere except at them. Akeylong hadn’t left his side, hands still on his arms, whispering quietly, desperate and shaking.
“My strong…mighty warrior,” Tsu’Tey whispered to Neteyam, his voice cracking with exhaustion. Jake turned back as Neteyam was poked on the nose and went cross-eyed with an expression that made everyone smile.
But Neteyam’s eyes never left his mama. Never left the vibrations under his chest. That same cloudy, unblinking stare. So curious yet so enraptured.
God. That old saying about babies always staring at beautiful things?
Neteyam was glued to Tsu’Tey.
Didn’t even look at Jake.
Jake kissed Tsu’Tey’s cheek again.
Jake huffed a soft laugh, brushing his knuckle against Tsu’Tey’s jaw.
“Guess he already has a favorite parent.”
Neytiri snorted.
Then Arvok was too close again.
"That baby is no good."
Jake flinched. Mo’at stood immediately, her mouth open, though Akeylong’s hand reached out first—firm—and slapped Arvok on the back of the head.
Mo’at and Eytukan hissed and placed their hands in front of Tsu’Tey as Arvok was pushed back.
“That is a child, do not—”
“Demonblood.”
Jake felt his heart drop. Just the way he said it. Like it had weight. Like it had already been decided.
Tsu'Tey hissed in response—it was ragged and sharp, and Jake suddenly remembered Tsu’Tey had been up since last night, and it was nearly morning. He was cranky, sore, and still not clean—probably felt too vulnerable for his taste.
Arvok hissed back with bared teeth: "You defend that thing as if it did not almost kill you!"
Tsu’Tey pressed Neteyam to his chest, his ears flat. His expression darkened, his eyes narrowed, and his scent turned sour. Jake moved, crouching up to shield them. His own tail flicked and whipped.
"Neteyam is a baby," he interjected firmly. “Listen—we were all scared, Arvok, brother—”
"Brother? You are not my brother." Arvok declared with vitriol, his gaze shifting to Jake. And Jake didn’t like that at all. Jake’s body tensed, his own anger boiling up in his throat like bile. His jaw clenched. His eyes didn’t move. If Arvok wanted another fight, fine. He would give him one. This was his family, and he’d be damned if anyone tried to rip it away.
He was going to protect. The tension in the room was palpable as they exchanged heated glares. The dance went on for minutes more, Jake getting all the way up and bucking, and Arvok in like.
The tension was unbearable.
Then—Mo’at moved.
She stepped between them with a grace that silenced even Arvok’s rage. Her arms lifted like a shield, hands placed firmly on Jake’s chest.
“No more fighting in this sacred space,” she said, low and clear. “Not as a brother. Not as a father. Not as a mate. You will not bring your hate into this room.”
Jake stilled.
His breathing came hard. He looked to Tsu’Tey, who was watching him. Barely awake. Barely alive. Still clinging to their child. The midwives who were helping him properly stand to bathe.
He wasn’t going to fight. Not now. Not here.
But Arvok still stared at him like he was poison.
Jake stared right back.
The standoff lasted too long—until Arvok finally snarled and shoved out of Akeylong’s arms and stormed out of the chambers, his tail lashing angrily behind him.
That moment had left a permanent scar on him, a reminder that everything could be ripped away in the blink of an eye.
Jake turned back to his mate. Neteyam was asleep now, hand curled around Tsu’Tey’s braid. Tsu’Tey was on wobbly feet—dazed.
That moment…it scarred him. Etched itself deep, down to the marrow. A permanent reminder that everything—everything—could be ripped away in a blink.
Neteyam—so tiny, so impossibly fragile—fresh in a world that was already a threat.
Jake hadn’t known, not at first, that Omaticaya infants were born blind. That his son was relying on sound and heat, he could only stare with those soft, unfocused, cloudy eyes.
Neteyam had been defenseless. Couldn’t even see the danger.
Vulnerable in every way.
He couldn’t lose him. Not this child. Not this family.
Tsu’Tey stirred softly in the dark.
He hadn’t truly been asleep—just resting his eyes, listening to the quiet peeps of their son and the rhythmic hum of night insects.
Just aware enough to feel the shift in the nest. The absence of warmth. The slight shift in the air.
He didn’t open his eyes. Instead, he reached blindly for the source of the movement and murmured, “Jake.”
Jake froze where he sat hunched, caught like a thief. Then exhaled roughly through his nose. “Yeah, baby?”
“You are too quiet.” He sighed and nuzzled into his mate’s warm spot like a big cat frolicking in the sun. “And too loud.”
Jake turned his head, catching the faintest shimmer of glowing gold eyes in the dark. Tsu’Tey was curled loosely around their son—Neteyam lay between them, plump and warm with milk, his belly rising and falling with tiny breaths. He was flat on his back, fists twitching, little legs kicking in his thin baby tweng. One tiny hand fisted near his own cheek, the other curled into a ball in Tsu’Tey’s braids.
He must’ve been taken out of his cot again.
Tsu’Tey had the same expression Jake remembered from his childhood—like his mother’s old cat, Tulip. There was a similar warmth in the way Tsu’Tey gathered and pressed Neteyam close to how Tulip did with her runt, fiercely protecting him with both tooth and claw. He was her first kitten of the litter and the only one left after they sold most of them. When Tulip passed away, he became fat and lazy, and Tommy grew attached to him. They named him Bobert, or Bob for short.
Tsu’Tey shifted, drawing his hand slowly on Neteyam’s belly, careful not to wake him.
Jake’s heart ached.
“Didn’t mean to wake you.”
“You did not,” Tsu’Tey yawned, tail flicking once across Jake’s thigh, curling once before settling again. Then his eyes truly opened, lazy but keen. A faint green-gold glow blinked at him from across the nest. “You never sleep, ma txa.”
Ma txa. Hubby. Husband. His beloved. His pain-in-the-ass skxawng who thought bottling emotions was a sport. Jake gave a humorless huff, rubbed raw. “Just thinkin’.”
Tsu’Tey shifted again, arm extending off their softly breathing son. His fingers found Jake’s hand, warm and familiar in the dark. He laced them gently, palm to palm. “You do not have to think alone,” he said softly. “Oel ngati kameie.”
Jake felt caught.
His five fingers brushed over Tsu’Tey’s four, the difference oddly grounding. He squeezed once, but Tsu’Tey didn’t let go. His thumb slid down to stroke the inside of Jake’s wrist, brushing slowly and carefully over the pulse point. Feeling the tension. The racing beat beneath the surface.
“You hide like a syaksyuk hides in the trees,” Tsu’Tey murmured, not unkind. His thumb lingered in its rhythmic pass, like he was memorizing the stutter of Jake’s heartbeat.
Jake let out a low, wheezing chuckle. “A skittish little monkey?”
“You are,” Tsu’Tey replied, unbothered. “But you do not need to be. You are carrying something that does not belong only to you. And alone in the dark?”
Jake looked away, throat tight.
He didn’t want to explain it. Not tonight. Not yet.
But his grip tightened.
Jake looked down at their joined hands.
The baby stirred, making a small clicking sound, then settled again.
“You are my mate,” Tsu’Tey cut in, quiet but firm. “My chosen. My bonded. I carried our cub,” he pressed faintly to Neteyam, “because we were meant to do it together. As one. You do not burden me. You honor me when you share.”
Jake blinked hard.
Jake Sully had always known exhaustion.
The bone-deep kind. The old soldier kind. But this was something else.
He was Olo'eyktan now. The Tawtute Olo'eyktan.
Its weight settled between his shoulder blades, coiled tight in the hinge of his jaw. He bore the stares—of reverence, suspicion, and curiosity. And he bore the whispers.
A skyman leads us now?
Tsu’Tey would have been better—more rightful, even if he is an Omega.
An outsider sits where our blood should.
The outside clans they invited in even looked haphazardly; Jake couldn’t fault them, but Jake pretended it didn’t hurt. Pretended it didn’t cling like honey—sticky.
They thought he was uncertain. Hesitant. They assumed he struggled with the responsibilities of leadership—one foot in the sky, one in the land. Neytiri had quietly encouraged him to share the weight—vent.
"Speak, Jake. Tsu'Tey would not be upset if you talked to him." She squeezed his shoulder, steady and sure. "He was once trained for this. To be Olo'eyktan. You are allowed to burden your mate with your weight. That is why Eywa gives us another. That is why the Olo'eyktan has a Tsahik—to balance the load."
Jake had heard her. Heard her loud and clear—he just didn’t listen.
What could he say?
Jake knew what Tsu’Tey gave up when he stepped back—that Tsu'Tey went through Hell to prove he was worthy after he presented, after Sylwanin's death.
That Tsu’Tey was born into leadership. Raised for it. Taught by Artsut and Ateyo how to hold command in his voice, how to walk with weight in his steps. The boy could recite clan lineages before he could climb trees (probably, it seemed like something his husband would be capable of). He trained for years—bled for it.
And then he gave it to Jake.
Not just because Eywa chose Jake, not just because the clan needed a Toruk Makto—but because Tsu’Tey believed in him.
How could he tell Tsu'Tey that even now—even with their son suckling softly at his chest and their nest finally settled—his nights were haunted?
That his dreams bled?
That sometimes he still tasted iron in his mouth and felt the recoil of a rifle in his hands?
That sometimes, when he kissed Neteyam’s freshly bathed belly, he still saw him dying? That he envisioned a future where Neteyam was nothing but a dream within a dream—that he feared he’d wake up in the linkpod, or worse, back in the south in a beat-up cot and a crowded street, nursing beer that did nothing to truly drown out the pain in his brain and phantom ache in his back?
No. He wouldn’t. He couldn’t.
Tsu'Tey was healing. Tsu'Tey was finally resting. They’d survived the colic nights and the fever flare, and Neteyam was healthy, cooing and grabbing at their beads and pooping every second.
Jake would not contaminate that peace.
So he wandered. In the clan. In his mind. In his exhaustion until he found himself home.
“Teyam, look baba—it is sempu.” Tsu'Tey had returned from the Tree of Souls, smelling faintly of the pollen that still clung to his skin and old bark, his hair wind-tousled and loose. He let their son meet Sylwanin and Grace—wave at the great-grandparents. Their son. The thought should’ve anchored Jake. Tsu’Tey pressed Neteyam to his chest with practiced ease. The baby mewled, blinking in lazy recognition. His chubby hand smacked Tsu’Tey’s collarbone and then weakly reached toward Jake.
Jake smiled, but the edges of it felt frayed. Tsu'Tey was attached to their baby—doted on him from morning to night.
He recalled the clan gathering as he held Neteyam in the air—a new member of the clan, Tsu'Tey's baby, Jake's baby, their baby—
’Neteyam!’ He called out as the clan swayed around them.
‘Neteyam!’ They chanted back, their arms resting on the shoulders of those next to them. Tsu’Tey had been radiant that day, though it had taken hours to get him to stop crying. At first it was just tears—quiet, stunned, slow. Jake had found Tsu’Tey curled in the corner of their nest, knees drawn up, Neteyam tucked against him. The baby was asleep, lips pursed, tiny tail limp. He had only stepped out for a second, to get more herbs that Mo'at and the healers said Tsu'Tey needed. Mo’at had been relentless—steaming bowls of bitter root broth, pungent bark tea, and spice-thick stews carried up by the healers of the clan, and Tsu’Tey had obeyed, even when the taste made him wrinkle his nose. When Jake walked in he thought his husband had fallen back to sleep but he heard it—quietly at first, a chest rising in shuddery pulls of air. Then harder. Jake remembered whispering 'baby' and curling in front of Tsu'Tey—his cheeks were wet and his ears tipped forward, trembling. He pressed Neteyam closer, breathing in that milky-new scent, whispering, 'You were part of me…and now you are not. Ma’itan, do not leave me.'
Jake hadn't say a word. He set down the bundle of herbs and knelt in front of them, wrapping both arms around his mate and son until Tsu’Tey’s breathing eased. He tried to speak, and it broke. His voice cracked. His body trembled, one hand fisted in the wrap holding Neteyam close, the other curled into Jake’s space.
Neytiri, all giggly. Eytukan stood proud. Mo’at was beaming like the sun. But Jake had noticed who was absent.
Artsut. Ateyo. Arvok.
Which he had anticipated. Tsu’Tey had expected it as well. He tried not to show his hurt, but Jake noticed; he was quiet and looked down hours after the ceremony.
That he was grateful and happy for Eytukan and Mo'at, who were excited to have a grandson. Still, the ache in Tsu’Tey’s throat had been a thing—Jake caught him crying again later that day.
He deserved better.
He understood the pain of not having a biological parent’s support. Arvok was absent—a given after the incident—but Akeylong, Tarsem, and Kiratx came, eager to welcome their baby cousin. Neytiri proudly patted Tsu'Tey's shoulder as Neteyam chirped in a high, warbly voice when he brought the baby back down. ‘Neteyam!’
And yet, Tsu’Tey glowed now. Holding Neteyam to his chest, purring low, whispering gentle stories as Jake leaned against the side of their nest. His mate was so pretty; his hair was tied into a low ponytail. His eyes were soft; he was at peace.
Peace was this: seeing Tsu'Tey alive, breathing, and holding their son. Jake sighed.
“You have been quiet,” Tsu’Tey murmured, barely looking up. His voice was soft enough not to disturb the baby. “What is wrong?”
Jake could say it. He could unload it. He could tell him about Venezuela. About Tsu’Tey’s death and Eywa’s mercy. About the newborn cries that shook him awake in cold terror. About the dreams where Tsu'Tey bled out and never came back.
But instead, Jake rubbed a hand down Tsu'Tey’s thigh.
Tired. Say you’re tired. Say it and move on.
He forced a smile, jaw aching. Neteyam gurgled.
“Tired, Angel. But I’m good. How are you?”
Tsu’Tey’s tail flicked, then he looked at him. Really looked. A measured silence. A flick of his ears. He pressed a palm firmly to Jake’s thigh in return. “I am good if you are.”
There was a sharp, adorable meep from Neteyam, and both of them smiled automatically, the moment defused. Tsu’Tey gently tucked Neteyam under his chin. His chest was damp with milk, and he looked—gods—he looked like home.
He could have lost all of this. If Tsu'Tey died—if he never came here—if Tommy didn’t die—if he never came—if Neteyam didn't cry that long, whiny cry. If. If. If.
If Eywa hadn’t returned Tsu’Tey.
If he hadn’t lived through Venezuela.
If Tsu’Tey had died from the blood loss.
If he hadn’t been able to protect Neteyam.
If he wasn’t enough.
Jake shook his head, trying to chase the words away, but they stuck like burrs in his soul.
“Yawnetu?”
Jake looked up. Tsu’Tey was blinking sleepily, rubbing his cheek against Neteyam’s hair. Yawentu—loved one; love—he was loved.
“Yeah. Just thinkin’.”
“Do not lie to me.” Tsu’Tey’s voice was soft but firm. “I feel it when you are in your head.”
Jake opened his mouth. Closed it. Smiled weakly.
“Baby, I’m fine. Really. I was just watching you two.”
Tsu’Tey didn’t push. Not yet. He hummed low in his chest and cradled Neteyam closer, kissing the baby’s ear. “Then come to sleep. You are no good to the people if you walk around like a corpse.”
Jake chuckled softly, didn't have the heart to tell his husband that corpse didn't walk, but maybe that was the point. He lay down beside them. “You’re right.”
His smile didn’t reach his eyes.
Then came nighttime.
The nest was quiet now.
Not the silence of stillness, but the hush of peace—warm, steady, sacred. Outside, the rain fell in thick curtains, slicking down vines and leaves, puddling on the hollowed-out platforms between nests. Thunder cracked in the distance.
Inside, Tsu’Tey leaned against the soft, moss-cushioned curve of their sleeping alcove, body loose and half-melted into the nest. His braids were down, falling like black silk across his shoulders, half-shadowed in the low green shine of the plants and lightbugs.
Nestled against his chest in a snug wrap was Neteyam—milk-drunk and sleepy. His little ears twitched with every gust of wind, every drop of water, but he didn’t stir, not really. His mouth was latched around Tsu’Tey’s chest, suckling in lazy half-hiccups. Now and again, he let out a soft mewl, that kittenish whimper that always made Tsu’Tey rub a little slower against his back as the other cradled him with a soft hum followed by whispered words. Neteyam's songcord—Jake recognized the rhythm; very melody he had once heard Tsu'Tey hum with Neytiri as they bathed, rocked, and fed Neteyam.
It was peace. Real peace. Eywa-given.
Jake was supposed to be asleep by now. It should have been enough to lull Jake to sleep.
The gentle rhythm. The hum. The warmth.
He was lying just off to the side, close enough to touch, curled in toward them, his back rising and falling slowly. Or so Tsu’Tey thought.
Then—
CRACK.
Another roll of thunder. Not loud.
But Jake jerked like he'd been hit.
His body shot upright, a ragged gasp torn from his throat. His hands flailed for something— anything —before curling into the edge of the sleeping mat like he might fall through the floor.
His chest rose, and it felt like he couldn’t catch his breath.
His ears were pinned.
His eyes were blown wide.
He wasn’t here.
He wasn’t in the nest.
He wasn’t with his mate.
He wasn’t with his son.
Thunder , or maybe it was the gunfire . Maybe it was the weight of blood, the memory of crawling through it.
His breath was ragged, his heart was pounding, and his vision blurred. The nest spun.
He was in Venezuela.
He was at the Burial Grounds.
He was watching Tsu’Tey die.
He was back there —where the fire melted skin and the screams of men echoed through smoke—screams of ikran and Omaticayan in the air. He was small, pale— human —on the ground again, dragging his legs through blood, then he was begging Eywa not to let Tsu’Tey die with his lungs filling up. Then he was bound to a chair, watching Tommy become ash and dust.
The jungle was alive with screams and the heat of metal.
Tsu’Tey—falling, dying, his kuru hacked short by strange hands.
Neteyam bleeding in his arms, his big baby eyes too wide .
He sees his own hands covered in blood, hears Grace yelling, hears Neytiri crying, and he can’t find his mate. He can’t find—
His voice cracked.
“Tsu—Tsu’Tey—Tsu’Tey— ”
Neteyam let out a startled squeak, unlatching from the breast with a hiccuping cry. His tail curled into his own body, fists wriggling. Jake reached blindly in the dark; he couldn’t see or smell his husband. “Tsu’Tey—Tey—Baby, please, please—” His hand patted.
“Jake?” Tsu’Tey was fully awake now, body stiff, cradling Neteyam close. “Ma’Jake? ”
Jake lunged forward, hands shaking, reaching blindly for him. He found Tsu’Tey’s thigh and gripped it like he was about to fall off a cliff. Not hard enough to bruise—but hard enough that Tsu’Tey felt the desperation shaking through him. Felt the calluses.
“You—you were gone,” Jake whispered, eyes glassy. “You were gone again. You were—Neteyam—he—fuck—I couldn’t stop it—I wanted to, but it was—I was— ”
Neteyam wailed harder, his cries broken and wet. Tsu’Tey rubbed his back on instinct, but his focus was on Jake now. All of it.
Jake’s tight, desperate grip.
Tsu’Tey's ears angled forward, his pupils wide, shining like the moon through the dark. His voice dropped low—not soft, but steady. “You got lost in your dreams.”
Not a question. A truth. As if he knew . Recognized this.
Jake’s breath hitched. He was trembling. All of him. Shoulders taut, fingers twitching, teeth gritted to keep the sobs in. “I didn’t mean to wake him—wake you. I didn’t—fuck—I’m sorry. I’m sorry , baby—” His voice cracked again. “I just—I just get theses—shit… ”
Tsu’Tey was already shifting Neteyam up, nestling the baby high into his chest wrap with practiced grace. Neteyam hiccupped, fussy but alive, squirming in the new emotions.
Then he opened his free arm and reached for Jake.
No hesitation. No questions. Come here.
Jake crumbled into it.
He buried himself in the curve of Tsu’Tey’s shoulder, shaking, pressing his face against the side of his neck, inhaling the warm, familiar scent of sweat, hair oil, cocoa, milk, and their child.
He didn’t sob. Not fully.
But he panted like he was drowning.
Tsu’Tey curled around him. Held him tight . One hand cupped the back of Jake’s neck, nuzzling him. The other smoothed down his spine with slow, deliberate pressure. He whispered low, half-song, the same lullaby he used to calm their baby. Their baby, who peeped and meeped in between them.
“It is okay, yawne. Tam tam, Ma Jake. You are here. I am here. Neteyam is here. Feel us. You are safe. Home.”
Neteyam had gone quiet again, soothed by the steady thrum of his mama’s voice.
Jake hadn’t let go of Tsu’Tey’s flesh—his thigh.
He hadn’t let go at all.
Tsu’Tey didn’t ask for the nightmare.
Didn’t push.
He simply kissed Jake’s temple, as gently as he did with Neteyam. “You will tell me when you are ready.”
Jake didn’t answer.
But his hand slid from Tsu’Tey’s thigh to his chest—right over his heart, right where Neteyam was curled.
Still beating.
Still alive.
Still his.
He let out a ragged breath. The tension in his body unspooled unevenly, in slow waves, not all at once, but piece by piece until only weariness remained—not rest, but the aftermath. It left him feeling hollow and heavy all at once. His body sagged under the weight of release, folded inward, and he held it like a prayer.
It had been a long day.
Not difficult—not in the old ways, not in the way war and fire had once been—but long in the soft, slow ache of living. There was still rebuilding and regrowth. Rebirth. Tsu’Tey had returned from a light hunt with the seasoned warriors, the scent of brush clinging to his skin. Jake had spent hours with Eytukan and the Elders, discussing spring routes and the rebuild of an outpost tower.
Neteyam, their little striped ball of fury, had cried nearly the entire afternoon. Tired. Hungry. Hot. Too much air, too much fuss. Mo’at had said he was teething early; nothing wrong with it, but they needed to expect him to be twice as whiny and clingy.
Now the rain had passed.
The stars blinked high and soft.
The rainforest still smelled heavy of rain, but Jake loved it. Comforting.
Tsu’Tey lay curled around Neteyam, who was nestled against his bare chest, purring in his sleep with a little open-mouthed sigh. One hand tucked under the baby’s weight. The other pressed across Jake’s ribs, grounding him. Neteyam's hand was curled tightly around Jake’s middle finger—his favorite finger—and he had murmured drowsy nonsense all through his last feeding: “Ba ba...ba...ma...mmm...ba,” little chirps and clicks as he wore himself out.
Jake hadn’t moved.
Not even now, as the quiet surrounded them like a cloak.
He lay on his side, stroking slow, reverent passes down Neteyam’s tiny spine. He kept his breath even, but something about the silence felt heavier tonight. Not oppressive—but full.
Full of what he hadn’t said.
What he still couldn’t say.
Until he did.
“...I see you die sometimes,” Jake blurted, so low it could’ve been missed in the hush of the trees. “Even now. I wake up choking.”
Tsu’Tey didn’t answer.
He didn’t tense. Didn’t ask. Didn’t flinch.
He simply reached up and touched Jake’s face. Warm palm against his cheek, thumb just under his eye. Gentle. Still. Like grounding a restless animal with presence alone.
Jake leaned into it—eyes closed. Shame bloomed sharply in his chest.
He hadn’t meant to say it. But he couldn’t keep it in anymore. Not after that nightmare. Not after waking up gasping and grabbing for something—someone—he couldn’t find fast enough. Scaring their baby.
“I—” He tried. Failed. Swallowed. “I see Venezuela. Sometimes. The trees, the blood—men I couldn’t save. But that...that’s not the worst of it.”
Tsu’Tey stayed quiet. A hand on his jaw, the other around their son. Anchoring them both.
Jake’s voice was barely above a breath. “The worst ones...are where you bleed out. Where you fall. I’m holding you, and you don’t wake up. Or where Neteyam stops crying and never starts again. I get there too late. Or I’m crawling—trying to get to you—but it’s like my body won’t move. I can see you, baby, and I can’t get to you.”
He stopped. Bit his lip. Eyes glassy. “It ain’t just nightmares. I feel it all over again. I feel the emptiness—the loss. Every time.”
Still, Tsu’Tey didn’t speak.
He let Jake unspool. As if it were something he had always done.
Jake swallowed and rubbed his face against the warmth of Tsu’Tey’s palm.
“I didn’t want to hurry you,” he rasped. “You just gave birth. You’re still healing. I didn’t wanna put this on you. I still don’t—It ain’t fair.” Because it was true—Tsu'Tey was still in a fragile space, fragile enough for Tsu’Tey to reveal to him something was wrong—or rather felt wrong. That he hadn’t expected the quiet ache—not just in his body, but in the space beneath his heart where Neteyam had rested for many moons. That place was hollow. The weight was gone, and instead of relief, it left him restless.
Which was why the baby was always close—in his arms, on his chest, curled in the sling while he dozed—but it was still different. The warmth was on his skin now, not under it.
But still—
He couldn’t look at Tsu’Tey—not directly. He was still trying to find the words, not feel so selfish for doing this, and they kept twisting in his mouth like something half-rotted. But they pushed their way out anyway.
Ugly. Honest.
“As fucked up as it sounds, sometimes I wake up in cold sweats thinkin’ none of this is real.” His voice cracked. Tsu’Tey didn’t move, just listened, eyes fixed on him like they were tethered. Jake swallowed. “Like I’m gonna wake up back in Texas…or in South Carolina. In that shitty one-room apartment with the broken heater and the busted cot, starin’ at my legs—my real ones. Scrawny. Pale. Scarred. My hands lookin’ wrong. My face lookin’ wrong. Blue eyes. Not this—” He looked down at himself. His arms. His chest. His fingers. All of it. “Not this body. Not this life.”
His throat tightened.
“Some days I swear it’s a fever dream. Like I’m still on Earth, fuckin’ dyin’ in some VA hospital, and I hallucinated Eywa and you and Neteyam. I don’t even know if I’d blame myself. Like, how the hell did I get this? This good? This much? ”
Finally, he looked at Tsu’Tey. And it hit him like it always did.
The realness of him.
How the moonlight kissed the curve of his cheekbones. How his eyes caught the glow of the stars and the night. How his nose was flat and catlike. How his braids curled slightly from Neteyam’s grip, and his hands were full of steadiness.
Jake’s voice dropped, hoarse and almost scared.
“I don’t even remember what it felt like to be human, not really. But I remember hating that body. Hating me. I didn’t know it then—but I do now. Because this body, this life—it feels like mine. Like it was always meant to be mine. And that’s the part that fucks me up.”
Tsu’Tey touched his arm. Gentle.
Jake flinched—but not from fear. From being seen. Being too open.
“Sometimes I think I was born wrong. In the wrong skin. The wrong world. And Eywa gave me another chance. A real one. One where I could breathe. One where I could love.”
He let out a long breath.
“And then I dream I lose it. Or wake up, and it’s gone. You’re gone. Our son’s gone. The People. And I’m back in that bed with nothin’ but noise in my head.”
Tsu’Tey leaned forward slowly, not to silence him—but to close the distance, to make Jake feel real, anchored. And softly, softly, he reached up to hold Jake’s face.
“You are not dreaming,” Tsu’Tey said. “You are here. You are loved. And you are mine, Jake. Eywa makes no mistakes.”
Jake blinked fast, and Tsu’Tey kissed his forehead, rubbing his nose next.
Now—now —Tsu’Tey spoke.
His voice was quiet, but there was steel under it. “It ain’t, as you say, fair,” he echoed, “for you to hurt, and I do not know.”
Jake blinked, startled by the edge of emotion there.
Tsu’Tey shifted Neteyam slightly, mindful of the baby, and tilted his head to meet Jake’s gaze. The gold of his eyes shimmered in the dim light. Not angry. Not even wounded.
Just open.
Soft.
Strong.
“It is not fair,” Tsu’Tey said again, “for you to drift so far from me that I cannot reach you.”
Jake exhaled, hitched, and ragged. “I didn’t want to make you carry it, too.”
“I carried half of you for nine months, so I can carry you,” Tsu’Tey said, simply. “That is not a burden. You are mine. You are Eywa’s gift to me. Do not stray so far from me, ma yawne. I am stronger than you think.”
Jake’s throat bobbed.
Tsu’Tey brought their foreheads together. Eyes closed.
“I used to have memories of Sylwanin’s death,” Tsu’Tey murmured. “Dreams of the people dying. I still dream of Ayram Alusìng. Sometimes, it is Neytiri or Eytukan. Sometimes, it is you. I scream and cannot wake. I understand this pain.”
Jake looked at him sharply, his heart clenching. “You dream like that?”
“I am not unbreakable,” Tsu’Tey said plainly. “Even now, I find myself crying. Even with Eywa’s gifts. Even with you. I fear.” He looked down at their son, who wriggled slightly in his sleep. “But I see you when I wake. I reach for you.”
He looked back up.
“Do not stray so far from me that I cannot reach. ” His thumb brushed over Jake’s cheek again. “Eywa gives you a mate, another half, another soul, so your own is not as lonely or burdened. There are many warriors who go into the forest and never come back. Jake—please do not do this to me, to Neteyam.”
Jake let out a sound that wasn’t quite a sob but wasn’t just breath either. He pulled Tsu’Tey closer, tucking Neteyam between them like a living thread. Their baby let out a tiny snore, fist still clenched around Jake’s finger.
“I love you,” he whispered, voice breaking. “I love you so much it makes me stupid.”
“You were already stupid,” Tsu’Tey teased, brushing their noses.
“Oh, fuck you.” Jake snorted wetly. “I didn’t know how to carry it. All of it. I thought maybe...if I just kept it quiet, I could be stronger. Better.”
Tsu’Tey pressed his forehead to Jake’s. "I do not need ‘better’ or 'stronger', I need you."
Jake nodded and curled his arms around both of them. Neteyam, small and warm, mewed in his sleep again and kicked a little.
Jake kissed Tsu’Tey’s cheek.
“I’ll try,” he promised. “I’ll talk.”
Tsu’Tey hadn’t said anything more.
Not really. He didn’t need to. His presence spoke in all the ways Jake needed—silent, steady, and fierce in its gentleness. He sat there beside him, still cradling Neteyam close, rubbing soothing circles against Jake’s arm with the other hand. “I will stay up with you.”
“Baby, you needn’t—” Jake's breathing slowed. The shake in his fingers eased.
He was still grounded in the moment when a tiny hand stirred between them.
A chirr. A sleepy hiccup. Then—movement.
Neteyam shifted in the sling across Tsu’Tey’s chest, fussing quietly as if he sensed the tension in the air. His head bumped softly against his mama’s collarbone, but his little arm stretched outward—flailing uncoordinated, but purposeful in that infant way.
Jake caught the movement in his peripheral vision.
Then—a tiny hand found his cheek—pat-pat-pat. Four small fingers curled onto Jake’s face, then his nose, clumsy but determined. A soft, high coo followed.
Jake went still.
Neteyam didn’t open his eyes, but he breathed deeper—like touching his father reset something inside his little body.
Jake’s throat clenched.
Tsu’Tey looked down and smiled. “Tam tam, Neteyamur, sempu is not going anywhere.”
Jake looked at his son’s hand, wrapped so tightly in prrsmung—leather with a lining of furrs—across Tsu’Tey’s chest. The baby’s brow twitched. Another sleep-murmur escaped him. But the hand stayed there. Pressed against Jake’s nose like it had always belonged there.
And Jake…
He broke a little.
Not in panic this time—but release.
He leaned down and kissed the crown of Neteyam’s head, then pressed his forehead into Tsu’Tey’s shoulder.
“I’m here,” he whispered to them both. “I’m not goin’ anywhere.”
And for the first time in a long while, he meant it.
It was early.
That kind of early that made the air feel heavy and soft, like the forest was still thinking about waking up. Pale morning light filtered through the canopy, mist clinging to the vines outside the woven wall of their nest. Rain dripped somewhere in the distance. Leaves sighed. Birds weren’t even singing yet.
Jake stirred.
He didn’t jolt awake this time. No violence. No nightmare. Just...a tickle.
Tiny fingers.
Little pads, barely coordinated, dragging clumsy circles across his hand—tugging at one of his pinkies, then patting the crests of his knuckles like he was something fascinating.
Jake blinked open an eye.
There he was. Neteyam. Four months old and so smug about it. Wide, bright golden eyes blinked up at him like he was late to the party.
The baby kicked softly against his wrap, then let out a gurgling chirp.
Jake smiled without thinking.
“Hey, bean,” he rasped, his voice low and gravelly from sleep. “You causin’ trouble already?”
Neteyam blew a raspberry like it was a full-throated protest.
Jake shifted, arm curling protectively without thinking—and felt the pressure of weight draped over his left side. Tsu’Tey. Hair down and wild from sleep, braided crown slipping sideways over one brow. He was curled against Jake like a second heartbeat. His thigh was thrown loosely over Jake’s legs, the long stretch of his body pressed against his mate like it was instinct.
One hand rested gently on Jake’s ribs. His other arm cradled their son from the other side.
They were cocooned. One living knot of family.
Tsu’Tey didn’t stir. Not yet. His breathing was slow. Deep. He slept like he’d finally stopped carrying a blade in his spine.
Jake swallowed, eyes stinging.
This was what he fought for. This exact, quiet moment. This trust.
He looked down at his son—so small, so safe—and then at his mate, whose face was slack with real, deep sleep.
Jake pressed a kiss to Neteyam’s brow. Then one to Tsu’Tey’s temple.
The baby cooed. Tsu’Tey’s ear flicked but didn’t wake.
Jake let his eyes close again, his hand resting lightly over both their bodies.
He didn’t need to be on guard. Not right now. Not with the rain still singing outside and the weight of his family tangled around him.
For the first time in weeks—maybe months—Jake slept.
Deep. Easy. Dreamless.
The light shifted while Tsu’Tey slept.
He wasn’t even fully conscious when he noticed it—the quiet absence of familiar warmth missing from beside and on top of him: the weight of his mate and their baby. His brows drew together faintly as his fingers searched the bedding.
“Baba? Txa?” he murmured, his voice raspy, still half-asleep. His ears flicked instinctively, chasing the scent of their kitten. “Neteyam? Jake?”
Then came a familiar chrrr—followed by a deep, husky laugh.
Laughter.
High-pitched, warbling baby chirps in reply.
Tsu’Tey sat up, bleary-eyed, hair tangled around his shoulders. The sight that met him nearly knocked the breath from his lungs.
Jake was sprawled belly-down on the woven floor mat, legs stretched out, elbows braced, broad shoulders flexing with each tiny motion. His dreads trailed lazily along the floor as he nosed at the bundle of blue and stripes wriggling in front of him.
Neteyam.
Flat on his belly, tiny legs kicking, arms flailing with excitement, babbling between ba!s and soft screeches. His little tail flicked back and forth like a tiny whip. His chubby hands clawed at the mat, determined to go somewhere, even if he had no idea how.
Jake mimicked his sounds right back, gently bumping his nose against Neteyam’s as he cooed, “You’re doin’ so good, bean. You gonna crawl across the whole nest soon, huh?”
Neteyam gave a happy squawk, gripping the mat like he was riding a pa’li. He barely moved—maybe a nose-length—but the effort, the joy, was enough. He grunted that determined kind of grunt only an overly serious, four-month-old kitten could make when attempting something far above his developmental level. Tsu’Tey was growing to know the sound very well.
Jake beamed at him like he was watching the moons of Pandora rise.
“That’s it, bug—attaboy! ”
Tsu’Tey remained still at the edge of the bed, watching quietly. His throat tightened.
There was something sacred—humbling—in watching the Olo’eyktan of the Omaticaya on the floor like this, nose-to-nose with their son, treating their child’s wobbly inchworm squirm like a matter of clan survival. Down on the floor like a simple hunter, eyes full of love and wonder.
It made Tsu’Tey ache. With love. With reverence.
His eyes flicked over Jake’s form—solid, strong, massive, curled protectively around their son like a fortress, muscles relaxed in rare peace. His mouth twitched and softened at the sight of Neteyam trying, quite sincerely, to eat his father’s nose.
“Abandoned by both my cub and mate?” Tsu’Tey said dryly, his voice rough with sleep but tinged with warmth. “A brutal morning.”
Jake turned his head slightly, grinning—dopey—over his shoulder. “Mornin’, baby. He already replaced you.”
Tsu’Tey lifted an unimpressed brow, stepping down from the nest with all the grace of a prince. His feet made no sound across the floor as he padded toward them.
Jake shifted to make room, and Tsu’Tey knelt beside them with fluid ease, brushing a hand over Neteyam’s warm back. “Oeyä yawne—my little love,” he said gently, “did you sleep well after trying to pull your sempu’s face off?”
Neteyam squealed with joy and immediately tried to shove his whole hand into Jake’s mouth.
Jake let him.
“Aya—do not let him think that is acceptable,” Tsu’Tey muttered, leaning over to kiss Jake’s temple. “Or normal.”
Jake tilted his head back to nuzzle into Tsu’Tey’s cheek. “Yes, sir.”
They stayed like that a while—wrapped around each other, a wall of blue and warmth, watching their son discover the world one wobble at a time.
“Norm called earlier,” Jake murmured finally, rubbing a circle over Neteyam’s small back. “Said something’s…wrong with Grace.”
Tsu’Tey stilled. His gaze dropped.
Jake exhaled, not looking away from their son. “Didn't say what but said it was urgent."
Grace wasn’t just a body in a glass shell, even now. She was still Grace—curious, fierce, beloved. Just not here. Her avatar remained in stasis; Jake brought it back after they buried her body, right by Sylwanin and cradled by Eywa. Her absence still echoed. That avatar was still Grace—Jake thought it her truest form.
“Will you go?” Tsu’Tey asked softly, already knowing the answer.
“Yeah,” Jake sighed. “Just…didn’t wanna leave without tellin’ you.”
He reached down and stroked a finger along Neteyam’s cheek. “And I woke up to him just starin’ at me this mornin’. I didn’t want to blink and miss this.”
Tsu’Tey pressed his forehead to Jake’s with soft certainty.
And then—ptthbbbbttt! Neteyam released the loudest, wettest raspberry either of them had ever heard, startling even himself.
Jake cracked up.
Tsu’Tey groaned but couldn’t stop the smile.
“I appreciate this moment, yawnetu,” he said, kissing Jake’s lips, “but go. Take Neytiri. I will stay with our son and manage your duties.”
Jake leaned in, nuzzled his mate once more, and then softly kissed Neteyam’s head.
“Don’t let him eat your braids.”
“Go before I toss something at your head, skxawng.”
Jake smiled: “Love you more, sweetheart.”