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For the second time that week, Jake found himself searching every inch of Awa’atlu for Lo’ak—who was apparently under the impression that he no longer needed to adhere to curfews. Jake felt that expecting his children home by sundown was reasonable—the majority of the village was tucked away in their maruis by then—but apparently, his son disagreed.
Perhaps more frustrating than the disobedience was that Jake was a damn hypocrite for being irritated at all. When had he ever listened to curfews at Lo’ak’s age? Hell, he didn’t even listen to laws all the time when he was on Earth—though luckily, his children didn’t know about that.
After a while, Jake was beginning to come to the conclusion that Lo’ak wasn’t in the village. If he was out with Payakan beyond the reef at this time, Jake was going to ring his neck until his head popped off his shoulders. He was just about to head for the water, when a familiar voice caught his attention.
“Lo’ak, do not,” Tsireya said harshly, almost pleadingly. Jake silently crept closer to the voice, into the forested area of the island that the Metkayina people rarely ventured into, since the sea provided everything they needed. “Do not ever say that!”
“It is the truth,” Lo’ak stated dejectedly. “Everybody knows, but they are afraid to say it.”
Jake shielded himself from view behind one of the large tree trunks as he caught sight of the pair. They were seated across from each other on the ground, Lo’ak’s head hung towards his lap while Tsireya leaned forward in an attempt to see his face.
“Nobody says it because it is not true.”
“It is!” he sneered, glancing up at her through furrowed eyebrows. “You do not understand, Tsireya—you cannot understand!”
“Then who could?” she asked, her voice soft, but firm—as if she were trying to calm a wild creature and take control of the beast before it lashed out or ran. “Ma Lo’ak, I do not believe that you could find someone who would think the way you do. I think you are the one who does not understand.”
When Lo’ak didn’t respond, she reached out and cupped his cheek with her hand—and he immediately leaned into her touch, nuzzling his face against her palm. His eyes raised to meet hers, and Jake’s breath hitched at the raw pain swimming in them. Jake quickly averted his gaze, the vulnerability in their shared look causing guilt to stir in his stomach at his eavesdropping. Whatever this conversation was, it was not meant for his ears—or anyone’s, other than theirs. Jake should have spoken up when he’d first approached, he should’ve let them know they were no longer alone.
“You do not see the way they look at me,” Lo’ak whispered, drawing Jake’s attention back. Lo’ak’s tight features melted away as he continued, “My mom has barely spoken to me since Neteyam died, barely looked at me. I do not know if it is because she blames me, or if she sees him in me, or what. She is just sad all the time. Cold. I think a part of her died with him. And my dad—” his voice broke, and he cleared his throat as if trying to free the words lodged there. “He blames me. And he is right.”
Jake’s eyebrows pulled together in confusion. He didn’t blame Lo’ak for Neteyam’s death. Sure, he wished Lo’ak hadn’t led the children out to sea for Payakan while a battle was starting—but he could also acknowledge that he didn’t quite understand the bond between him and the tulkun. From what he’d heard about tulkuns, the Metkayina considered them more like people, family, rather than creatures. It was reckless for Lo’ak to put himself at risk, but it was loyal —and hadn’t Jake been drilling loyalty into his children’s heads since they were born?
Sullys stick together.
“Yawnetu,” Tsireya soothed. “You did not kill Neteyam.”
“I did. He wanted us to leave the ship, but I would not go without Spider. If I had not gone in, he would not have had to follow and protect me.”
“He did not have to. He wanted to protect you, because you were his little brother,” Tsireya assured him, her thumb brushing side to side under Lo’ak’s eye. “That was his choice.”
“It was not a choice!” Lo’ak hissed, turning his head to pull away from her touch. “If he went back to my dad without me, my dad would have skinned him! I knew that. I knew that if I ran in, he would follow, because he could not leave me.”
That wasn’t true—Jake wouldn’t have been upset if Neteyam had come to them for help instead of chasing after Lo’ak. Would he? With a sinking feeling in his chest, he realized that he wasn’t so sure of himself. If something had happened to Lo’ak and Neteyam wasn’t there… a regretful part of him knew that he probably would’ve blamed him, at least in some part. Shit, he and Neytiri had chastised him after Ao’nung had left Lo’ak beyond the reef—and Neteyam had nothing to do with it. Because it was the duty of a sibling to protect the others— especially as the oldest. He always instilled that into Neteyam, that he was expected to protect his siblings at all costs. Did Neteyam think that he’d be in trouble for prioritizing his safety? Did Jake make him stay on the ship?
“We would always get into trouble because of me,” Lo’ak said. “I would do stupid things, and he would follow me because he had to—and then we would both get scolded.”
“That is what siblings do.”
“There were a couple times when my dad told us that my recklessness would get us killed one day—but he was wrong. I only got Neteyam killed, while I am still here, bringing shame and disappointment to my family. I wonder if that was what Neteyam thought about as he lay dying. That what we always knew would happen was finally happening—that I was killing him.”
“You are not a disappointment—”
“Stop! I am! That is all that I am, and all that I ever will be!” Lo’ak shouted, barely getting another breath into his lungs before he continued, “And you can not tell me that I am wrong, because my dad has always told me how much I have failed him. Neteyam was the good one—the strong warrior, the responsible brother, the one who was just like my dad, the one my parents were proud to call their son.”
“Lo’ak—”
“I do not care if you tell me not to say it, it is true,” Lo’ak stated. “It should have been me. It would have been so much better for my family if I had died instead.”
Jake’s hand trembled as it came up to cover his mouth while Lo’ak’s words rang out into the quiet clearing and hung heavily in the air. For a moment, Jake forgot how to breathe, unable to think through the pain filling his chest like a poison-dipped knife. Lo’ak thought they would rather he be dead? Had Jake really failed so terribly as a parent that his son, his baby boy, didn’t think he was loved the way Neteyam was?
“Eywa chose him.”
“She chose wrong.”
“She cannot choose wrong.”
“Well, She did. I do not care if She is mad that I say it!”
“Lo’ak!” Tsireya said fiercely, grabbing onto his face with both hands and forcing him to look at her. His shoulders slumped and his fists relaxed into the grass, as if she’d sucked the anger out of him through her skin. “That is enough.”
“She should have reclaimed me,” Lo’ak whispered, almost too quietly for Jake to hear. “I wish she did. If there was anything I could do to switch places with my brother, I would do it in a single heartbeat.”
“Then I am grateful that there is nothing you can do! I love who you are very much, and I would be devastated to lose you. Think of Payakan—you have given him a brother after a life of exile. He would be heartbroken without you. Even Ao’nung and Rotxo care about you—you should see the excitement in their eyes when I tell them we will all hang out. I can not speak for your parents, because I do not know them well, but you must remember that you are not only Suli. You are Metkayina— and our clan is lucky to have you, as a warrior and a friend,” she spoke. Then, softer, she added, “I am lucky to have you.”
Silence followed for several seconds, before Lo’ak’s face crumpled as a broken sob escaped his chest—and Tsireya quickly pulled him into a hug, allowing him to bury his face in her neck.
“My dad hates me,” Lo’ak cried, his voice slightly muffled. “He always looks at me like he is waiting for me to fuck up. I know he blames me for Neteyam—he said it. During the battle, I wanted to help save my sisters, and he told me I had done enough, like he did not want me to help because I would get everyone else killed next. And when I went to find him while the ship was sinking, he thought I was Neteyam at first—and when I said I was Lo’ak, his face just… fell. He wanted to give up, to drown. He did not even want to live for me!”
Jake had forgotten that he’d said that. The moments after watching the life leave Neteyam’s eyes were blurry to him—all he could remember were the haunting sounds of Neytiri’s screams, the grief tearing through his soul, and the fear that gripped his heart at the knowledge that his daughters’ lives were still in jeopardy. But he didn’t blame Lo’ak… right? Thinking back, he remembered when he’d found him in the sinking ship—what had he said?
Lo’ak had apologized, taking blame for Neteyam’s death—and to Jake’s horror, he recalled that he hadn’t refuted the notion. ‘Focus on now,’ he’d said. Did he blame him, then? He knew he didn’t now—Lo’ak couldn’t be blamed for trying to protect his family—but then? When Jake was hurting, and terrified, and his children were dragged into a battle because Lo’ak had run out to sea? Maybe.
“Lo’ak, you must speak to him about this,” Tsireya told him.
“I cannot just… speak to my father. A warrior does not whine or cry, like a child—especially not when they kill their brother. I disappoint him enough—he does not need to know how weak I am, too.”
Jake thought back to several years ago, when a young Lo’ak would come running to him in tears after Neteyam or Kiri had pushed him a bit too hard, or called him one too many mean names, and Jake would scoop him up in his arms, wipe his tears, and ask him about his daily adventures through the forest until he’d forgotten that he was upset. When had Jake shut his emotions down, making him think he wasn’t allowed to have any? When had he made his youngest son feel that he couldn’t be open with him? He couldn’t pinpoint it, but one thing was certain: Lo’ak hadn’t come to him with just about any concerns or complaints in quite some time.
“It is not weak to feel things,” Tsireya argued. “The heart that allows you to feel hurt over your father’s words is the same one that shows compassion to Payakan, and holds affection for me, and races fast with excitement when you go hunting or exploring. You cannot choose which emotions your heart feels—sadness is just one of them. There is no weakness in emotion.”
Lo’ak pulled back and wiped his face with his hands in an attempt to dry the tears. After taking a deep, calming breath, he noted, “It is dark. Our parents are going to send a search party, if we do not head back.”
“We should go,” she agreed. “Will you be alright tonight?”
“Of course,” he assured her, nodding. “I need to calm down before I go back to my parents, though, so… I am going to wait for a little while.”
Tsireya nodded and placed a kiss on his forehead, before rising to her feet. “I will see you in the morning. Ao’nung said you were hunting with them?”
“Yeah, I will meet you on the beach before we head out.”
“Sleep well, ma Lo’ak,” she told him as she brushed a hand over his braids.
“You, too.”
With that, Tsireya turned and took off towards the village—and Jake quickly ducked behind a tree before he was seen. He had to talk to Lo’ak, he had to tell him he’d heard him—he needed to tell him how wrong he was—but he wasn’t sure how to. Would Lo’ak be angry with him for eavesdropping, and shut him out? Should he talk to Neytiri before trying to deal with this? Jake wasn’t good at delicate, he wasn’t good at expressing feelings.
But this wasn’t about him. It was about Lo’ak.
As the boy stood and took a deep, calming breath, Jake knew he had to talk to him now. It couldn’t wait. Lo’ak couldn’t spend another night thinking he was unloved by the family.
The moment Jake stepped into the clearing, Lo’ak froze, his eyes wide and his back rigid.
“Sir,” he addressed, and Jake flinched as if he’d been slapped. He’d made his sons call him Sir, like they were his fucking soldiers. They were children, and he was supposed to be their dad. “I-I lost track of time, but I was just going back to the marui.”
“It is okay, son,” Jake said, his throat tight in a way that made it a bit difficult to force the words through. “Drop the Sir. Please, just—I never should have expected that of you. I am your father, call me Dad.”
“Okay.”
What was he supposed to say? He figured he should tell him that he’d been listening, but maybe letting Lo’ak repeat the words to his face would be better. More therapeutic for him or something? Fuck, he had no idea.
His body seemed to know what to do more so than his mind did, as he found himself stepping forward and throwing his arms around Lo’ak. He held him to his chest—probably just on the side of too tightly—and let out a shaky breath as he whispered, “I am so sorry, my son.”
“What?” Lo’ak asked, his hands hesitantly coming up to wrap around Jake and return the hug. But the moment was short-lived, as Lo’ak then pulled back to look at him. As soon as his eyes found Jake’s face, he gasped. “You are crying.”
Jake brought his fingers up to his own face, and sure enough, it was soaked. He was crying.
“What has happened?” Lo’ak questioned, fear dripping from his voice. “Is it the girls? Have they been hurt?”
“No, no, your sisters are fine—they’re perfect,” Jake calmed him.
Lo’ak relaxed a bit, but his eyes couldn’t help but flicker anxiously to Jake’s tear-stained cheeks. “What is wrong, then?”
“I heard you,” Jake admitted. “Talking to Tsireya just now—I heard you.”
Understanding registered in Lo’ak’s eyes and he tried to step back, but Jake grabbed onto his shoulders to keep him close.
“I have been a shit father, Lo’ak.”
“No, you—”
“Just—let me,” Jake interrupted him. He swallowed several times, before continuing, “I am sorry that I have been so hard on you— and Neteyam. I thought the best way to keep you safe would be to turn you into soldiers, prepared for whatever war you wandered into, but I… I was wrong. I should have taught you how to be warriors without taking your father from you. I wish you would have come to me, when you were feeling these things. I wish I had made you feel that you could.”
“It is okay, S— Dad,” Lo’ak assured him. “It is stupid, anyway—I think my head has just been kind of messed up. I probably hit it on the coral too many times. Kiri said I was dropped as a baby—maybe that is why.”
Jake smiled, a bit sadly, and put his hand on top of Lo’ak’s head. “You were dropped as a baby, but so were she and Neteyam. Parenting can be difficult. You mother and I still have not mastered it.”
“Well, please do not have any more children. I do not think I could survive another sister.”
“Skxawng,” Jake chuckled, and Lo’ak gave him a half-hearted grin. “I used to deflect my pain with humor, too.”
“We do not need to talk about it,” Lo’ak said, his eyes practically begging. “What you heard. It does not matter.”
“It does,” Jake argued. “It matters, Lo’ak—because you matter.”
“I know I do.”
“It did not sound like you knew.”
“I was being dramatic.”
“You were hurting,” Jake corrected. He took Lo’ak’s face in his hands. “You are hurting, and that matters to me.”
Lo’ak was silent for a moment, then sighed. “What am I supposed to say? You already heard.”
“I guess it is me who has things to say,” Jake reasoned. Figuring it was best to start with the most pressing issue, he said, “I handled Neteyam’s death poorly. I said things to you that I did not think through. I felt guilty and ashamed that I could not protect my own children—and I knew that it was me who Quaritch wanted. I let his people take Neteyam’s life instead of giving him my own. But, I knew I could not break then. I had to be strong, and I had to be brave, and I could not let myself crumble under my grief and fear. So I-I shifted that blame from my shoulders to yours. I did not even realize it, until now. I was weak. But you, you were so strong. You went into a sinking ship and saved my life, while bearing the guilt and pain that I could not. I am so proud that you were stronger than me, but you never should have had to be. Neteyam’s death was not your fault.”
“But he was there because of me.”
“Your brother was there because he was a warrior. He would have been there regardless, fighting for our family and the Metkayina who took us in. Spider is not a Sully, but he has been as close as he could get to being family for your entire life. And Sullys stick together. I do not blame you for rescuing him, and Neteyam would not blame you, either. You understand me?”
Lo’ak nodded, and Jake tipped his head to press their foreheads together.
“I have never, even once, wished that it had been you instead of Neteyam,” Jake said. “I need you to get that through your head, boy. I wish neither of you had died, but I swear on everything that I never thought the wrong son did. When we were still in the ship, and you saw my face fall upon hearing your name, it was not that I was disappointed to see you. I thought I had already died. When I realized that I was still alive, and I understood the situation we were in… Lo’ak, I was terrified. I was injured, and I knew I could not hold my breath the way you kids had learned to, and I believed that I was going to drown. And you being there would take you down with me, unless I told you to leave me. I did not give up on you—I gave up on myself. And without your help, I would have drowned. I have never been disappointed to see you—not then, and not any of the times you were a disobedient stiwisiyu. I have always been proud and grateful to be your dad. There is no amount of misbehaving you could do that would make me love you less. I love you so much, my son. I failed you as your father by making you ever question that.”
Lo’ak sniffled as a tear escaped his eye, and Jake pulled him into another hug, resting his hand on Lo’ak’s nape to hold him more securely.
“I love you, too, Dad,” Lo’ak mumbled into Jake’s shoulder, as he clinged to him.
“You said Neteyam was just like me, but you were wrong,” Jake whispered into his hair. “Neteyam was just like Toruk Makto. You are just like me. You did not know me before your mother knocked some sense into my thick skull, but I was a real knucklehead. Her nickname for me was skxawng. I was reckless and confrontational, and I rarely listened to orders. That is why I have always been so hard on you—I have always been afraid that I would lose you, because I know myself.”
“You could have given those qualities to Tuk,” Lo’ak teased, laughing softly. “You already gave me your weird fingers, toes, and eyebrows.”
“Sorry, I did not get to choose,” Jake told him, a smile forming on his face. “But between you and me, I think our fingers and toes make us better warriors. Do not tell your mother.”
“Better balance,” Lo’ak agreed.
“Better grip on a knife.”