Chapter Text
Pandora was not a planet humans could naturally inhabit without a lot of help.
Help which came in the form of thousands of dollars worth of equipment. Like the development and later approved design of exo masks, rations that had to be processed and sent from Earth, seeds that had to be genetically adapted to take in Pandoran soil. And that was only in terms of basic human survival, it didn’t account for housing, breathable air within the RDA’s buildings and facilities or the means to travel safely across a planet where everything else wanted to eat the colonists.
In short, humanity was not built to live comfortably on Pandora. And in turn, Pandora had not been created with the needs of humanity in mind. The terrain was thick and unforgiving, uncut by the natives, since they’d adapted to live alongside the plants and conditions of their habitat rather than brute force their way forward. Whilst the living creatures of the planet were continuously and unforgivingly large and most often hungry. Out there, humanity was on the lowest rung of the food chain. Even in large groups, they were easily picked off by wildlife without the help of large machines and weaponry.
If Pandora hadn’t been the only planet in the green belt of this galaxy, the RDA might have given up entirely and moved their efforts elsewhere earlier. But they didn’t. So the company had to brainstorm ways to keep their employees alive long enough to actually do their jobs.
You would think then, with all these problems, that it would be safe to assume that Pandora was in no way a suitable environment to raise human children. Especially not in those early days when the forests had not yet been cleared and the RDA base was all that existed that was man made on the planet.
You would think that humanities brightest, hand picked candidates, would assume that kids should remain firmly out of the equation until the cities began being built and the RDA gave an official go ahead. But of course, not everyone seemed to think that far ahead, and a few ambitious (stupid) employees attempted to smuggle their kids along to Pandora.
You’d been a teen when a particularly outrageous incident hit headlines, when someone had smuggled their newborn into one of the cryo capsules. How they’d managed to get the infant past the security measures and onto the spacecraft itself, the crew had had no idea, but they’d had managed somehow, and parent and child had been put to sleep in preparation for the 6 year long journey across the stars.
It hadn’t been until the occupants of the spaceship were being roused from cryo and the pod doors slid open, that the deceased child had been discovered. Dead within seconds of being put to sleep, medical professionals had explained upon examining the body. Naturally, the RDA cracked down hard. Regularly checking pods and ships primed for voyage before take off.
As such, you hadn’t seen a real, living, human child since leaving home. When your aunt had her first daughter. You had been young at the time, staring in disgust down at the wrinkled little thing that was supposed to be a baby. The kid’s eyes hadn’t even been open yet, whereas a constant frown had tugged her thin little mouth down into an unpleasant expression.
That being said, you had certainly not been expecting to return to your compound after a long day in the forest, to find Norm Spellman cradling a real, living, human baby of all things.
You’d noticed the blue blob of an avatar puttering round your kitchen as you approached the compound, nothing out of the ordinary there, Norm sometimes visited between projects and Jake often couldn’t be bothered to unlink when taking a break from chores.
No, what tipped you off was the deer in headlights look the guilty avatar shot you once you’d left your exopack and muddy boots behind in the airlock. Your feet stalled mid-step as your eyes swept over his hunched form folded into a kitchen chair too small for his big, blue backside. With his back to you and his head turned over one massive shoulder, you got a full view of the restless swish of his tail and the quiet tapping of his heel on the floor. He sat tensely, his jacket rumbled, and the strap of his respirator trapping his kuru against the wrinkled material where he had failed to pull the braid through.
<“What did you do?”> You demanded reflexively, as a tired sigh escaped before you could catch it.
Norm’s tail tucked its way under the back of his chair to rest between his tapping boots. <“Don’t be mad.”> His Na’vi was still rusty and painfully polite, but it was understandable and miles better than Jake’s.
Considering that sentence had preceded several instances where the only logical reaction was to get mad, you privately decided to reserve the right to do so rather than promise anything. <“That is to be decided.”>
Norm’s mouth clicked open to further argue his point, only for the ear furthest from you to suddenly swivel downwards and for his head to retreat back to his front where it dipped. He murmured quietly to something in his lap, his tail loosening its droop.
“What have you got there?” You pressed suspiciously, abandoning your previous aim for the kitchen counter to pad towards the table on sweaty, socked feet.
Instead of retreating from you, Norm carefully rotated his torso, his arms cradling something small and precious. Gently, the large avatar’s hand lifted from resting atop the bundle of blankets to begin peeling away a corner by Norm’s opposite elbow. Piece by excruciating piece, the fuzzy fabric was pulled away to reveal a baby’s face, scrunched up and slumbering. Your breath caught painfully as you drank in every detail of the human infant. From the soft wisps of blond hair growing out of his disproportionately large head, to the chubby cheeks, scrunched up eyes, and the five, tiny fingers on each clenched hand, and no doubt ten toes concealed beneath the wrap. Now you knew they were there, you could hear their quiet snores.
For a long moment, you stared, dumbfounded at your friend. At his exhausted expression, to the baby in his arms, who was impossibly small. Ridiculously small. You could hardly believe people made them that small, but it was probably because they were being cradled by Norm’s avatar rather than a proportional adult human. Considering your knowledge of babies was rather rusty, you guessed they were only old enough to have been born before everything went to shit. Old enough to have been affected by the war like everyone else.
With a click, you managed to unstick your tongue from the roof of your mouth. “Well, I’ll be damned Spellman.” You said, your voice dry and devoid of its usual lightness. It was weird to be using English after so many months of conversing in purely Na’vi, but now you were actually looking at Norm, something in his tired expression suggested he hadn’t had time to continue practising the dialect. “You move fast.”
Norm spluttered, golden eyes wide in offense, “he’s not mine!”
You hummed noncommittally, having assumed as such, but wanting to fuck with him anyway. With drawn out motions, you returned to your previous course of action and made for the kitchen counter. Swinging your supplies rucksack off your shoulder, you set about decanting goods. It was a relief to set the heavy thing down after carrying it back from the village.
Mo’at had insisted that because you helped daily with hunting and foraging, you were entitled to a portion of weekly rations. She’d been very particular about what humans could and couldn’t digest; knowledge Grace had shared with her during those early days of the school. Although it was the most exhausting grocery run you’d ever had the misfortune of walking, it was convenient and saved you having to farm and forage for everything yourself.
Could you have made it easier on yourself by simply linking up to your avatar instead of walking all the way into the village on foot? Yes, yes you could have. Did you think about it before picking up the ungodly heavy pack and realising you would have to trek it all the way back to your compound? No, no you had not. But you would certainly remember for next time because Mo’at seemed to want your cupboards fully stocked, and your human body only had so much endurance now you were constantly in your avatar.
“Thank Eywa.” You continued the conversation, carefully setting out the fruits and herbs that would need to be washed and preserved before you could even hope to crawl into bed at a decent hour. “No offence Norm, but I really can’t see you with a kid yet. You’re not long out of avatar training yourself.”
Norm chuckled at that, his voice pinched. “Yeah, me neither. Especially after Trudy-” He trailed off, that fresh grief adding a note of pain to his voice. It had only been a few months, but the war felt like yesterday sometimes.
You turned then, forgetting about the task at hand to really look at your friend. “Why are you here, Spellman?” You prodded plainly, knowing how out of the way your little forest home was from the Mother Compound, especially with a child in tow.
Norm sighed, looking every inch as tired as you felt. He glanced down at the baby in his arms, peacefully napping as Norm slowly rocked him. “I need your help.” His tone was pleading as he glanced up, catching your eye and holding it.
Just from his expression, you knew you were his last resort. You knew he wasn’t here to make a social call, despite it being ages since you’d last crossed paths. Clearly, Norm Spellman had already used every percentage of his massive IQ to find a solution, only to come up disappointingly empty handed.
“I’m listening.” You agreed quietly, mentally preparing yourself for more violent military personnel having escaped Hell’s Gate, or the news that more people were getting cut and sent back to Earth-
“It’s about Miles.”
Your eyebrows knocked together as your thought process abruptly halted with a screech. Shifting on your feet, you tried to school your expression into something safer; more neutral.
“Miles Quaritch? Didn’t realise you two were on a first name basis-” You clarified, only for Norm’s nose to turn up at the implication.
“Gods, no! This,” he nodded down to the child in his arms, “is Miles. But unfortunately he is Quaritch’s son. Should probably be upfront about that from the get go.”
Your eyes bugged at that. “Quaritch has a son?” Who in their right mind would have let that grumpy old man get a leg over? Sure he was attractive enough, in a silver fox kind of way, but the moment he opened that fowl mouth of his, anyone would shrivel up in an instant and run for the hills.
“Apparently.” Norm clarified, sounding about as bewildered as you felt. ”And don’t worry, we were just as surprised as you were.”
“With who?”
“One of the pilots. She died during the Battle for the Tree of Souls. Apparently he was being cared for by the RDA’s cleaning staff, but of course since we sent them back and it was too dangerous to send him back too, his care has fallen to us.”
“Alright.” You said for lack of anything better to say. “What do you need me to do?”
“Help us give him the best chance possible. No one can find out he’s Quaritch’s son. If he’s going to get any chance at a normal life, no one can know.”
“I’m gonna assume I’m one of the exceptions.”
“Yes, you and Jake.” Norm clarified. “Jake because he’s pretty high up in the na’vi hierarchy and we need someone they’ll listen to if this gets out. And you’ve got the clearance to actually deal with this shit at the root so that never happens.”
You nodded along, finding the thread of logic in the madness. “I really hope you don’t need my ID because that thing has been lost long before you even set foot on this moon.”
He snorted. “Thankfully, we just need your iris and a fingerprint.” You frowned, to which Norm was quick to add, “from what I understand, it’s a bunch of video logs, and shouldn’t take too long to do.”
The information soothed something in you, reassuring you that you weren’t about to delete some vital family photos or heartwarming interactions between child and parent - even if the parent was Miles fucking Quaritch. If it was just video logs, then of course you could do that. Hell, you’d killed people on your worst days. Bad people, mind you, but people nonetheless. By comparison, this would be far less exhausting.
Wordlessly, Norm shifted and pulled a simple, black memory stick out of his jacket pocket. Holding it out, he waited. You glared at it, your traitorous eyes glancing to the slumbering kid once more before you caved.
“You owe me big time for this.” You said, taking the blasted thing from him.
Norm laughed again, low and strained. “I know.”
>_<
Like the good host you were, you made Norm a warm drink before even attempting to kick him out. During which Miles had roused from his nap.
“Can you warm up one of his bottles?” Norm asked, shifting his hold on the snivelling infant to reach under his chair and pull out a stuffed messenger bag. Your eyes bugged as you watched him sift through an assortment of nappies, bottles, clothes and blankets, more than any one person would need for only one afternoon out. The scientist made a victorious noise as he pulled out a sealed bag of baby milk and a bottle.
“Um, sure.” You said, taking both out of his hands before moving to the only free bit of empty counter space. With the kettle boiling at your elbow, your mind blanked as you stared down at the plastic bag and bottle. What did you do with it? Warm it in the microwave? Leave it in the bag until it’s warm to room temperature? Decant it into the bottle after? Or before?
Hesitantly, you opened the microwave door, milk bag in hand only for Norm to quickly butt in.
“Oh!” He exclaimed abortively, the way he always did when afraid to speak out against someone who outranked him. You paused. Norm hurriedly dropped his hand, struggling to calm his features.
“Go ahead, Norm?”
“Perhaps, don’t use the microwave.” He offered quietly, barely suppressing a wince.
You complied, closing the door and stepping away. “How are you supposed to warm it?” You prodded, when the man struggled to give any further information. Miles was getting more upset in his grasp, taking most of Norm’s attention off of the task at hand.
Between bouts of soothing Miles, Norm explained how the microwave would leave hotspots that could burn the baby’s tongue. That you should instead fill a jug with warm water - not too hot - and let the bag warm to body temperature. That you needed to check the temperature of the milk before giving it by squirting it against the inside of your wrist, since the nerves there are sensitive like a baby’s mouth.
You nodded along to his explanation, struggling to follow the steps with the sound of the kid fussing in the background. The kettle had long popped by the time you had a properly warmed and temperature tested bottle in hand, which you quickly handed off to a grateful Norm.
Miles’s cries calmed as he was finally fed, whilst you occupied yourself with finally making the drinks. Setting Norm’s steaming cup down by his elbow, you went to get your laptop before retrieving your own mug and sitting down on the opposite side of the table.
The room was tense but quiet as you slotted the memory stick into the USB port and leaned back in your chair to watch the video logs download. True to form, it didn’t take long. Within seconds, about forty video logs appeared on your screen.
Taking a much needed drag from your mug, you set to work hovering your mouse over the top one, frowning as a notification popped up, asking for a thumbprint and a retina scan. Norm visibly tensed as you clicked ‘approve’ and held still as a blue light shone over your face, sliding from side to side. With a confirming beep, you pressed your thumb to the right spot and waited. Another beep and you were in, the software greeting you with a robotic; “Welcome Doctor.”
You started at the top and worked your way down the list of videos.
Clicking on the image feature, you watched the neatly written titles shift to frozen icons of Quaritch’s face. He looked tired in the earlier ones; happier. Whilst the more recent ones displayed his heavy eyebags and the evidence of his age carved into the deepening lines across his forehead. You frowned at the sight of him, something angry and festering curdling in your stomach.
In a few of the more recent logs, you caught sight of baby Miles cradled in the crook of his arm, Quaritch often glancing down at him, looking more attentive than you’d ever thought possible. When else had he ever looked at another human being with such warmth? Certainly not during the time you’d seen him around Hell’s Gate.
And so began the tedious task of deleting every, single, video log. One after the other. Each log was too large for the computer to be able to handle deleting all of them in a single chunk without crashing, so you had to select one or two, wait for the green bar to fill, and watch Quaritch’s face satisfyingly disappear in the background.
One by one he was erased from your computer screen as his presence had been wiped from the planet. You only felt a slight twinge of sympathy that you were destroying all interactions of baby Miles with his birth dad, but in the long-term, it was the best thing you could do for the kid.
The beep of the airlock had your mouse freezing over the last video. The picture displayed Quaritch mid-report as he bottle fed his child in full view of the camera. Your eyes bugged guiltily as you glanced up to the door, only to find Tsu’tey stood waiting in the airlock for the light to turn green.
“Shit!” Norm whisper-shouted, to which you scrambled to pull up the delete button and brutally spammed the shit out of it. The green bar appeared on screen, filling agonisingly slowly as Tsu’tey opened the second door and stepped into the kitchen, his respirator hanging from the strap around his neck.
He paused in the doorway, His nose beginning to twitch as his face scrunched up. <”What is that?”> He muttered under his breath, blessedly giving you even more time.
Norm panicked, all tense and strained as he leapt up from his seat, baby still in hand to intercept the hunter before he could decide the cause was lost and make a beeline for you and the incriminating evidence on your laptop.
<”Olo’eyktan!”> He greeted loudly, his na’vi predictably rusty and formal once more.
Tsu’tey faltered mid-step to avoid colliding with both man and child, his ears fanned wide, hands sweeping up from his sides to steady the scientist. <”Norm.”> He greeted tightly, confusion knitting his brow.
Norm grinned (winced). <”Have you met Miles yet?”>
<”Who?”>
Norm promptly motioned to the baby in his arms, now sleepy eyed and cuddly after his bottle. <”Olo’eyktan, meet Miles.”> Norm exclaimed happily - his tone bordering on hysterical. For lack of anything better to do, Tsu’tey nodded in acknowledgement down at the baby, who caught sight of him and simply stared. The na’vi’s nose was twitching again, you noticed, though he was careful to keep the rest of his face from reacting under Norm’s full attention. <”Miles, meet the Olo’eyktan.”> Miles simply blinked up at Tsu’tey, seemingly unaware of how to proceed with an enormous blue alien looking back at him with the same amount of confusion.
Tearing your gaze away from the peculiar sight, you glanced back to your screen to find all evidence of the video logs gone. The screen was completely devoid of any sign of Quaritch. Something that had been wound tight, loosened in you in relief as you slumped back into your chair.
<”Okay.”> Tsu’tey mused, before stepping around the pair, making a face when he caught your eye. You smiled back, feeling nothing but adoration as your mate approached.
At his back, Norm turned in a panic, only to pause when he noticed your relaxed demeanour. He held still as Tsu’tey rounded your chair and dropped into a crouch at your side, the na’vi pressing a kiss to your brow, as his warm eyes looked you over.
<”You didn’t get far into preserving your rations.”> He teased, making a point of glancing back to your half emptied rucksack and the fruits still littered around your kitchen.
Across the room, Norm sagged in relief.
<”I wasn’t expecting the visitors.”> You returned easily, suddenly feeling guilty as Tsu’tey smiled and nuzzled your brow before getting back up.
<”I’ll help.”> He offered, already moving across the room towards the countertop.
You had to once again remind yourself what was at stake. You had to glance back at Miles, and take in his small sleepy expression, his vulnerable little body supported by Norm’s arms, to keep yourself from being swallowed by the guilt. No one could know, you rationalised. Not even Tsu’tey. Miles would be safer if he was just another orphan. Just another misplaced human unable to return to earth. And it had to remain that way, regardless of how you felt on the matter.