ratherastory (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
ratherastory) wrote2011-07-11 03:37 pm
ratherastory) wrote2011-07-11 03:37 pm
Entry tags:
Part IIIb —The Hunter
[Master Post]
Part IIIa
It’s Jensen’s first time at an official Na’vi ceremony, and by the time Jared has finished explaining all the intricacies of protocol Jensen is feeling a little overwhelmed. It’s nothing too formal, but there are layers in the Na’vi hierarchy that he never even suspected existed, and each needs to be paid its proper respect. Jared laughs when Jensen confesses just how nervous he is, all while carefully applying white ceremonial paint to Jensen’s face.
"You will do well, Jensen," he says, dipping his fingers into the bowl of pigment. "The People know you are new to our ways, that you are learning. Tonight you will prove what you learned, and all will be well. Be still," he orders sternly when Jensen squirms under his touch.
They haven’t discussed the kiss at all, not since the first day upon Jensen’s return. Jared seemed certain that this was something he was okay with, at least, but Jensen can’t banish the conversation with Grace from his mind. He can’t tell if Jared’s been hurt by his reticence or if he’s relieved or if he just doesn’t care. Jared seems content to let the matter lie, and Jensen is too busy tying himself into knots over it to want to bring it up all on his own. He tries not to shiver as Jared’s fingers travel down his torso, painting increasingly elaborate designs over his chest and stomach. Finally Jared seems satisfied with his work, extends his hands —fingers still covered in white paint— for Jensen to take, and pulls him to his feet.
"Are you ready?"
"As I’ll ever be, I guess."
It’s been dark for over an hour already, and by the time Jensen and Jared arrive in the huge clearing at the foot of Home Tree where the Omaticaya hold their most important ceremonies all the cooking fires are blazing brightly, the smell of roasted meat hanging heavy in the air. The forest around seems muted under the glare of the flames, as though for this one night it’s the Na’vi who have precedence over all the other inhabitants. Even the plants’ natural luminescence seems dimmer than usual, Jensen notes before all his attention comes back to Mo’at and Eytukan, standing at one end of the clearing, the huge trunk of Home Tree at their backs.
Mo’at raises both arms in a clear gesture demanding silence, and immediately the clamour of voices dies down, leaving behind only the whisper of the wind and the crackling of flame. At a nudge from Jared, Jensen steps forward along with the other two hunters who accompanied him to Iknimaya to ride the banshees. He forces himself to stand very still, not quite at parade rest because it would look out of place, as Mo’at paces slowly in front of them, intoning some sort of complex chant that he can’t quite make out. He can pick out a few words here and there, but he gets the impression that this is an older version of the language, maybe some sort of ceremonial variant —Grace would know better than he does, he thinks— that isn’t used by anyone other than the tsahik. He resists the impulse to fidget or flinch away when she dips her hand first in a bowl of yellow pigment, then in a bowl of red pigment, and sets about adding to the design that Jared already painted on his face and chest.
Finally she stands back, satisfied with her work, and nods once. At her signal, Eytukan steps forward, the necklace of Thanator claws clacking loudly in the stillness.
"Ngenga 'itan omatikayaä luyu set. Na'viyä luyu hapxì! " he declares.
And with that, it appears the official part of the ceremony is over. Jensen finds himself suddenly swarmed by Na’vi youths, patted on the back and congratulated, the air ringing with laughter and shouts until a strong hand grabs him by the arm and hauls him out of the crowd. He almost loses his footing, ends up practically falling into Jared’s arms and, looking up, he finds Jared grinning down at him.
"Congratulations, Jensen."
He grins back. "So I guess now we celebrate?"
Jared nods. "Now we celebrate."
Jensen doesn’t remember ever spending a night this intense, not even in his wildest days serving with the army. What starts out as an evening of eating and singing and telling improbable stories of hunting prowess quickly turns to dancing and singing even louder amidst shrieks of laughter and delight from the younger members of the tribe who are still awake for the festivities. Somewhere after Jensen’s fourth bowl of food Tsu’tey approaches him, wooden bowl in hand, holds it out to him. Jensen looks at him, trying to figure out if it’s an olive branch or a challenge, decides it doesn’t much matter, accepts the bowl and takes a long swallow of the strong-smelling liquid in it. It hits the back of his throat, burns its way into his stomach, and he barely manages not to choke and cough. Tsu’tey grins, takes the bowl back and takes a drink of his own.
"You not used to drink, I think?" he says, dropping to sit cross-legged next to Jensen, jabs an elbow none too gently into his ribs.
"Oh, no, we’ve got plenty of booze where I come from," Jensen assures him.
Tsu'tey throws his head back with a bark of laughter. "Then drink with me, now that you are taronyu. Then when you have had enough, you will dance. It is the way," he says, more seriously.
"You should not drink too much," Jared warns him in an undertone. "It is very strong."
"I'll watch myself," Jensen assures him, even though he thinks it might well be a lie.
The stuff is damned potent, vaguely reminiscent of kava, and Jensen finds himself having to match Tsu'tey drink for drink. He feels light-headed, a little giddy by the time he's had his fourth drink, but he's also feeling decently brave now that the alcohol is in his stomach and Jared is still at his back. Also, to his considerable relief, Tsu'tey appears to be just as far gone as he is.
"I thought —enough drink— you would not be so ugly," he slurs, slinging an arm over Jensen's shoulders. "But your eyes are still too small. How do you see with such small eyes?"
"Badly," Jensen manages with a giggle, and is rewarded with a matching fit of giggles from Tsu'tey. It's weird, seeing the normally-intense warrior this loose and unguarded in his responses, and that just makes Jensen giggle harder. When he bothers to think about it at all, he decides that the alcohol is probably a lot stronger than anything he's used to. Or something.
"That is what I say," Tsu'tey agrees. "But you are not so bad. I see how you rid the ikran. You fly well, Jensen. He flies well, yes?" he looks over at Jared, who is the only one who hasn't been drinking from the bowl. Jared rolls his eyes but gives them a good-natured smile and nods. "I tell Ìla'rey, the Sky People are cowards. Hide inside the big―" he gestures vaguely, the alcohol interfering with his already-limited English vocabulary.
"Choppers?" Jensen suggests, but Tsu'tey shakes his head. "Machines?"
"Yes, machines," Tsu'tey agrees. "Cowards. Fight from far away. But you —you make good, clean kill. I did not think Sky People can do this."
"I guess we're all full of surprises," Jensen rejoins dryly, and Tsu'tey keeps laughing. Jensen looks over his head at Jared. "Your friend can't hold his liquor!"
Jared springs to his feet, pulling Jensen along with him and toppling Tsu'tey into an undignified heap on the ground. Tsu'tey makes a half-hearted protest, but a moment later another young warrior has taken Jensen's place and is refilling the bowl with pungent-smelling alcohol.
"He will be fine," Jared doesn't quite answer Jensen's implied question. "Now come dance."
"It's the way, right?"
"It is the way," Jared agrees, and pulls him into the circle of dancing people.
Jensen was never much one for dancing when he was back on Earth. There were a couple of times that he went into bars or clubs, danced with a few likely-looking prospects, but the dancing part was usually short-lived as soon as he found someone to hook up with. He certainly never got into the habit of dancing for the sake of dancing. It was always a means to an end. This, though, this is entirely different. The drums have been beating almost incessantly from the moment the feast got under way, the drummers relaying each other at the their instruments so that everyone might have a turn at the food and the dancing as well as the drumming, and the relentless beat seems to come up through the ground and into the soles of Jensen's bare feet, filling him slowly from the bottom up.
Jared is grinning widely, body already beginning to sway to the beat. All around them the young men and women of the tribe are lost in the sound, in the thrumming rhythm all around them, bodies swaying and gyrating in a complex pattern that seems to come naturally to them. Jared's eyes close as he dances, and Jensen finds himself watching him, transfixed, still a little unbalanced by the unaccustomed excitement and all the alcohol he's just consumed. Jared is beautiful like this, all grace and power and joyful abandon, his muscles rippling effortlessly as he moves to the rhythm of the music.
"You are not dancing!" Jared's eyes open, and he gives Jensen a mock-glare. "Come!"
Jensen stumbles forward, suddenly self-conscious and feeling like he's got two left feet and an extra arm. He tries to mimic the other dancers, almost trips over himself, wants nothing more than to find a way to extricate himself from this bizarre almost-nightmare and just watch from the safety of the sidelines, but there's no resisting Jared when he wants something. Then suddenly Jared is behind him, large hands coming to rest on Jensen's hips, still moving effortlessly in time with the music.
"You are thinking too much," Jared says into his ear, breath hot against his neck, and it sends a shiver down Jensen's spine. "This is not time to think. You have learned how to hear. Listen and hear and do not think."
Jared's hands are searing prints into his skin. It feels like his whole body is thrumming with electricity, alive and more than a little aroused. Jensen is just glad that no one around seems to be paying any attention to that. Jared pushes him, presses up close behind him, still dancing, though his movements are a little more subdued. Like this it's easy to match his every move, to let the undulation of his hips guide him, to feel the rhythm coming up through the ground and dictate to his body what needs to be done. Jared doesn't speak after that, but Jensen can feel that, whatever it is he's doing, Jared approves and even seems like he's enjoying it. It's a weird, unaccustomed sensation, but he welcomes it, lets it flood through him along with the rest of the music.
The dance grows wilder around them, accompanied by whoops and yells of delight. The drumbeat grows more frantic, and soon there's nothing left in Jensen's mind but the relentless pounding of the drums, the white-hot sensation of Jared's fingers travelling along his skin, moving him and letting himself be moved at the same time under the canopy of trees. The fires begin to die down, the embers casting flickering shadows among the trees, the smell of burning woods and long-cooked meat permeating the air under the pungent, wet, sweet smell of the rainforest itself. Jensen keeps dancing, eyes closing of their own accord, letting his body perform movements that now feel as though he's been doing this forever, safe in Jared's arms and surrounded by the protective barrier of the trees.
It's almost a shock to realize that the music has stopped. He comes to a standstill, heart thundering in his chest, blood roaring in his ears, to find Jared's arms still wrapped around him from behind.
"Where did everybody go?" Jensen asks a bit stupidly, as Jared leads him away from the clearing. Or, rather, herds him away from the clearing, ushering him forward by the expedient of putting both hands on Jensen's shoulders and pushing gently. Jensen's whole being is still thrumming with adrenaline, music and alcohol. He feels a little disconnected from his body, like he's floating a couple of inches off the ground, as though nothing around him is really real. He wonders if enough alcohol would sever the link and send him back to his body. He hopes not.
"They are still there. You just do not see them."
"That makes no sense," Jensen twists to try to look behind him, but his view is blocked by Jared's shoulder. It's kind of unfair that he's so tall, he thinks petulantly. Then again, the tall thing has its perks, and Jared is a huge, solid, reassuring presence behind him. The only constant he's had these past few months.
"That is because you still don't see."
Jensen manages to avoid tripping over a protruding root, held in place by the hands on his shoulders. "I thought I passed that test?"
"It is not a test," Jared huffs a laugh. "You are taronyu now, but even taronayu continue to learn even after they are accepted by the eytkan. You think learning stops just because you ride ikran once?"
"Um."
Jared jerks them both to a halt. "Stop, Jensen, and see."
Jensen does as he's told, stands very still and makes a point of looking around instead of staring at his feet in order not to trip and fall flat on his face. He figures at this point he's beyond the immediate risk of a pratfall anyway. He raises his eyes, can't quite stifle the gasp that rises in his throat.
"Oh my God."
He doesn't know for how long they were walking, doesn't quite remember how they got here, but he's certain he's never seen this place before. They're standing in a grove of what Jensen can only think of as weeping willows. The trees, like all the others on Pandora, are impossibly tall, and though the great boughs are bent and their leaves trails toward the ground, he can barely make out where the lowest of them are joined to the huge trunks. Unlike all the other trees of the forest, though, these are pure white, as though all the colour had been leeched from them. Jensen remembers distantly that the colour white is simply the refraction of every single colour there is to be found, thinks it might be fitting that these trees are so pure that they send all the colour back out into the world.
"This is Vitraya Ramunong —the Well of Souls," Jared moves them forward, toward the largest tree of all, standing tall and gnarled and majestic at the centre of the grove. "This is the Great Tree, oldest of them all. The voices of fizayu —the ancestors—are loudest here, though when you learn to listen you can hear them always. This is the last part of your time as a child. Now you listen to the voices of fizayu, and you become a man."
Jensen's heart feels like it's crawled up into his mouth. It feels wrong, somehow, to be doing this. To be here, like this, when he's been lying from the start. He is standing next to the living, beating heart of the Omaticaya, and it feels dirty, to come to this place with mixed intentions.
"I don't know if I can..." he whispers, his voice strangled.
"The bond is the same," Jared mistakes his hesitation. "The tree will speak to you just as the ikran and the pa'li, if only you know how to listen. This time, though, it is the will of Eywa that will make itself heard. When you are on the pa'li or the ikran, it is your will that is important. Tonight, you learn to listen to the voice of Eywa."
Jensen swallows hard, feels his entire body grow cold, but he's come too far to turn back now. He reaches out tentatively, brushes his fingers against the surprisingly soft bark of the tree, sinks slowly to his knees on the ground. He startles a little when one of the branches brushes against his shoulder, can see the tiny ciliae waving like tendrils from where they protrude from both wood and leaf. It's obvious, now, what is expected of him, and so he reaches back and pulls his braid over his shoulder, brings it up just close enough to barely graze the tree branch. Immediately the tendrils at the tip wrap themselves around the proffered wood, and what feels like a bolt of lightning races through him. Everything disappears: Jared, the clearing, the trees, everything is replaced with whirling light and the joyous sound of voices raised in a song he will never be able to describe in words. The singing goes on forever, along with an undercurrent of gentle whispers. The light grows stronger and more gentle all at once, bathing him in a softness he's never known in his whole life, filling him with the kind of understanding he never suspected could even exist, and if he weren't already on the ground he's sure it would bring him to his knees.
He sees the rainforest from above and below. He sees it through the eyes of tiny mice that burrow among the roots of the bushes, and through the eyes of the banshees that soar high above the treetops. He sees the Na'vi move along their accustomed paths, and prowls through the underbrush with the Thanator. He tastes the blood of the sturmbeest as the Thanator consumes it, feels its wildly-beating heart come to a stop, feels the fear recede into peace as it rejoins the earth. He climbs into the trees, digs into the soil, scrambles among the rocks, soars along the air currents, and feels as though his heart might burst from the sheer joy of all this life thrumming all around him. There's a bright flash of colour behind his eyelids, and then nothing.
"Jensen!"
He opens his eyes to find himself lying flat on his back on the ground, staring up into the translucent branches of the trees, Jared looming over him, his face screwed up with worry, running his hands over Jensen's body as though searching for injuries. Jensen's still not sure where the earth ends and his own body begins, but he manages to locate his arm, reaches up to lay his hand on Jared's chest.
"I'm okay."
"You fell." Jared still looks worried. "Are you sick again?"
He shakes his head. "No, I'm fine. It was just...it was a lot."
Jared nods, sits back on his heels and blows out a relieved-sounding breath. "I forget you are not used to tsaheylu." He extends a hand, and when Jensen takes it he pulls him to his feet. "You are all right?"
"Yeah," Jensen breathes. "My God, Jared, it was...I can't even say. Is that what it's like for you all the time?"
Jared laughs. "Only here. We cannot speak with the ancestors all the day. They speak a great deal," he says, and Jensen laughs too.
"Fair enough."
"What did Eywa tell you?" Jared seems honestly curious, and Jensen wonders if maybe this is different for everyone who comes here. It's a trippy thought.
"Uh, I'm not sure. I mean, I saw the forest. I mean, really saw it. It's beautiful," he says a little lamely, but Jared is nodding as though he knows exactly what he's talking about.
"You are taronyu, now. One of the People, with a place in the tribe..." he says, and he seems oddly hesitant, a stark contrast with his usual cheerful, easygoing confidence. "The hunter may join the hunting parties, may make a bow of his own from one of the heart trees. If you wish..." he stops again, but Jensen doesn't know what to say and so stays silent, forcing him to continue. "If you wish, you may pay suit to one you want to have as mate."
Jensen swallows. "Uh, what would that mean, exactly?"
Jared's gaze cuts away and he takes a step back. "There are many young women of the tribe who find you pleasing to look at. They are interested by you, because you are not of the tribe, because you are different and new."
Jensen feels his face screw up into an expression of distaste. "What if I don't want to, uh, have one of them as a mate?"
"You don't have to," Jared assures him hastily, and Jensen is pretty sure that the expression on his face is one of carefully-disguised relief. "No one is forced to be with a mate if they choose not to. The People do not believe in this."
"What about you? Grace said you would have to, you know, find a nice Na'vi girl and make lots of babies. Well, at least one baby."
Jared's face flushes, and he still won't meet Jensen's eyes. "It is different for me. I have a responsibility."
"Because you're going to be the next tsahik?"
"Yes."
Jensen moves closer to him, so that their bodies are almost touching. Being this close to Jared is more intoxicating than anything he's consumed that day, his whole body vibrating with anticipation, with want. "Is that what you want?"
Jared swallows, but doesn't move away. "I have spent many years doing what I want. That time is coming to an end."
Jensen can feel the heat from Jared's skin seeping into his own. They're standing so close that it's impossible not to notice that Jared is just as aroused as he is by now, even though they aren't quite touching.
"What about right now?"
"I should not."
"Why not? Who will it hurt?"
Jared makes a sound that sounds like it's caught between a sob and a laugh. "My mother would disapprove."
"Because I'm a man, or because I'm a Dreamwalker?"
"Both. She does not believe you are truly Na'vi. She believes I can't truly love you."
The word sends tiny sparks down Jensen's spine. "And what do you believe?" he asks, can barely make his throat work. "You keep telling me I need to learn to see, to hear. So what do your eyes tell you? What does your heart tell you?" he cringes as the words come out of his mouth, half-afraid Jared will laugh at him, but he lays his hand over Jared's heart as he speaks, and is sure he's not imagining it when he feels it speed up under his palm.
Jared doesn't bother answering, just bends his head a little, and his lips brush against Jensen's, so tentatively at first that Jensen can barely feel it. Then he gains a little in assurance, confidence bolstered when Jensen doesn't pull away, and the kiss becomes more insistent, his tongue pushing at Jensen's lips, demanding access, and Jensen sees no reason at all to refuse. It's different here, standing under the Mother Tree, nothing like that first kiss at the waterfall which was filled with sunlight and laughter. This time Jensen is still halfway overcome by the dance and the final bond with the Mother Tree, and it feels as though Jared is trying to pull Jensen right inside himself, heated skin pressed to heated skin, both hands clasping either side of Jensen's face as though to keep him rooted to the spot.
The kiss seems to last a lifetime and no time at all, until Jensen is forced to pull back and suck in a shuddering breath. His whole body is vibrating with sensations that are at once alien and yet all-too-familiar, with aching need and desire, and all he wants is for Jared to grab him again and keep kissing him until he forgets his own name. Jared is still pressed up against him, and Jensen can feel the hard length of his erection rubbing against his thigh, feels his own dick throb under the skimpy ceremonial clothing he donned what seems like centuries ago.
"God, Jared," he murmurs, unable to feel self-conscious even though Jared is staring at him with those huge golden, cat-slit eyes as though he's the most precious thing in the universe, or as though he might simply vanish into thin air if he so much as looks away for a moment. "So beautiful..."
Jared runs the tips of his fingers over Jensen's face, expression wondering and reverent at the same time. "She says you are not real, and yet I see you. How can you not be real?"
"I am real," Jensen insists. "Just try me."
Jared seems to take him at his word, because the next thing he knows Jared's arms are around him again, pulling him into another searing kiss, and the only thing Jensen can think now is more-more-more, the words looping around in his brain like trapped birds. He manages to free one of his hands, trapped between them in Jared's desperate bid to bring them both together, moves it down Jared's side, marvelling at the smooth strength of the muscles in his abdomen. He strokes Jared's thigh, eases his hand between them again and is rewarded with a jerk of Jared's hips and a small, needy-sounding moan as his fingers wrap around Jared's cock. This, at least, doesn't seem to be any different from what he's used to. He shoves a little at Jared, savouring the taste of his tongue while he twists his hand and pulls in short, sharp strokes, relishing the feel of Jared thrusting instinctively against his hand, until suddenly Jared pulls back, breathless, his pupils blown wide and even more alien-looking now.
"Wait," he manages, and before Jensen can so much as protest the sudden removal of the object of his desire he's hooked his legs around both of Jensen's, bearing him to the ground. He's still breathing hard, but there's more to it, Jensen can tell even while all of his body is screaming at him out of frustration and need.
"Jared, what?"
"Not just this," Jared straddles his hips, leaning over to kiss his way up Jensen's stomach. "You don't know."
Jensen wriggles under the attention, even while Jared's tongue is lapping at him. "Uh, God...Jared, this isn't the...oh, God. What?"
Jared makes a slightly frustrated noise and says something in Na'vi, much too fast for Jensen to understand. Not that Jensen can blame him —his own brain isn't exactly firing on all cylinders right at this moment, and English is far from being Jared's first language. "I want...you and me, now. Together," he says, reaches behind Jensen's head and gently tugs at his braid.
Oh. Oh.
Jared is still rubbing against him, and it's all Jensen can do not to buck against him, seeking out more friction than he's currently getting. He clutches at Jared's shoulders, fingers travelling until they find the braid hanging down his back. "Yeah, yeah Jared. Okay, yes, please!"
He has no idea what he's doing, but it doesn't seem to matter for Jared, who simply reaches around, brings the two braids together, and Jensen almost blacks out from the sudden rush of feelings. There's no easing into this, no keeping his eyes closed and waiting for the world to adjust. It's all a blur of want and need and desperate desire. He can see himself, head thrown back, blood suffusing his cheeks, can feel the burst of lust in the pit of Jared's stomach as he looks at him, feels his own desire coming back at him through the bond. He hears someone cry out, realizes he's hearing himself at the same time as Jared is. Jared moves, and the duelling sensation of his own pleasure and Jared's mingling together courses right through him like lightning. He utters another high, keening cry, bucking desperately under Jared's weight, fingers clawing at Jared's shoulders and he can feel his own fingernails scraping against skin, can't tell which shudder of pleasure is his and which is Jared's. It's too much, too fast, and the next thing he knows he's thrown his head back, coloured light sparking behind his eyes as he comes harder than he's ever come his life.
For several long moments after that everything is blessedly dark. He lies very still, can hear his heart thudding dully in his ears, until gradually his body begins to come alive again, humming with pleasure. He becomes aware first of his own body, then slowly realizes he's still not alone. There's a small burst of happiness, something that is entirely foreign to him that he recognizes as being all Jared, a feeling of contentment and pleasure at having been the source of pleasure for him. Jensen forces open his eyes, finds Jared still stretched out over him, their tswin still closely entwined.
"Oh my God," he manages.
"You are different from the Omaticaya. No one has ever been like that before, together," Jared says, and Jensen thinks he understands what he's trying to say.
"Total sensory overload," he agrees.
Jared laughs, and the laughter seeps right through into Jensen's mind and he laughs too, almost without knowing why. He can't even bring himself to feel ashamed of climaxing so quickly, not with Jared loose and happy above him, wanting him with undisguised lust and...Jensen is almost sure he can feel something under the immediate rush of physical desire, tries to reach out with his mind to see what it is, until Jared's hand brushes against his cock, still oversensitive from the incredible rush from before. He jerks, moans quietly at the back of his throat.
"God, what are you doing to me?"
Jared smirks. "You do not do this among the Sky People?"
Jensen deliberately jerks his hips, brings up a hand to reciprocate, even if the sensation is enough to want to make him lose his mind on the spot. "Don't even try. Is...I don't..." he gropes for words, but Jared places his free hand over Jensen's slips.
"Shh. You think too much, Jensen."
Jared is still rock-hard, pressed up against him. Whatever happened to Jensen, it looks like Jared is more in control of this than he is. Then again, Jared's had a lifetime to practice this and get used to experiencing more than one viewpoint at a time, so Jensen thinks he's doing okay, all things considered. His eyes flutter shut again in spite of himself as Jared begins to move again, this time more slowly, with less of the desperation from earlier, even though it's obvious that he's just as aroused as before. Jensen wonders if it's because he experienced some of the same release, if the fact that his own dick is already starting to take renewed interest in the proceedings is because he can feel how aroused Jared still is, which of them is feeling what...
"You are still thinking," Jared says, and reaches down to gently nudge a finger past Jensen's defences.
Jensen bucks against the sudden intrusion, has slightly wild, panicky thoughts about how he hasn't had any time to prepare for this, but Jared kisses him, and a feeling of calm that isn't his own washes through him.
"It's all right," Jared tells him, "I won't hurt you." Or maybe he thinks it, Jensen can't tell anymore, but he finds himself relaxing into Jared's touch anyway, forcing his muscles to loosen so that Jared's fingers can breach him.
It's not as though Jensen has never done anything like this before, but it's always been furtive, hurried affairs in sordid back rooms or nameless, faceless motel rooms. There wasn't room for much more, not in the kind of life he led, and that was fine by him, or at least he'd thought it was, up until now. Now, though, he's not so sure, because he doesn't remember any of it feeling anywhere close to this good. Even if Jared hadn't bonded them, he thinks a little breathlessly, letting his body move in time with the pace Jared is setting, back arching in a futile attempt to get just a little more contact, just a little closer, he's pretty sure he's never felt quite so close to anyone. Never felt like this, like he mattered at all.
There's a sudden, small pulse of sadness that lodges near his sternum, and Jared trails kisses along his jaw, down his neck, though his hand never ceases its movements. Jensen grips Jared's arms, tries not to tighten his hold so hard that he'll hurt him, confused by the odd emotion that's threatening to destroy what little concentration he has left.
"Jared...what...?"
Jared is busy lavishing attention on the spot where his neck joins his shoulder, but he understands the question well enough. Maybe he can just hear it in his mind, Jensen doesn't know.
"No one has cared for you, when you were joined," he murmurs, just loud enough that Jensen can hear it from the outside as well as through his thoughts. There's another small pulse of sadness, and for a moment he thinks Jared must feel sorry for him. It's not that, though, he realizes. There's no pretense, here, no holding back anything at all. The sadness he's feeling is just that, nothing more, nothing less, and he wonders if all that Jared is feeling from him is confusion and fear.
Jared pulls up, looks him in the eye. "No," he says, clearly and succinctly, and Jensen wants to laugh and sob at the same time.
There's another throb of emotion, one Jensen doesn't quite recognize at first until he feels it echoing back right at Jared from a place inside him he didn't even know existed up until now, and all he can think is that it's not enough, none of it is enough, and he yanks hard on Jared's shoulders, trying to pull him closer.
"Jared, Jared please. Please, now."
The rest of his pleas are swallowed by a kiss, but Jared is more than entirely in agreement with Jensen's request, withdrawing his hand and shifting his hips until he's lined up with Jensen. He doesn't stop to ask if Jensen is sure, if he's ready, because he knows, can feel it just the same way Jensen can feel everything that's happening to Jared's body. Jensen breaks the kiss, biting down on his lower lip with his teeth as Jared thrusts into him slowly, smoothly, not pausing but not going so fast as to hurt or overpower. It's still not enough, and Jensen wraps his legs around Jared's waist, urging him to move, to act on what he knows Jared is feeling but is trying to restrain.
"Come on," he moans, trying to banish the twinge of fear at the back of his mind, the voice that keeps trying to intrude on everything else to tell him that, when this is over, it's all going to go the way it always does.
He knows it's not true, can tell by the way Jared is holding him like he's his most cherished possession, by the look in his eyes, by the love he can feel pouring out of him now and pouring right back in. It's as though they're in a hall of mirrors, endless refractions of the same emotions coming back at him, growing smaller in the distance and yet amplified into infinity, until Jensen simply lets himself drown in the sensation. Until it's nothing but him and Jared, and then nothing but the bond, nothing except the moment in which they both come together and he doesn't know if he's himself or Jared or both, riding on a wave of pleasure and love until the wave crests and breaks and he can't even tell which of them is crying out anymore.
This time he comes down gently from his climax, held in Jared's arms, shivering with pleasure and more than a little with shock. Jared rolls them both until they're on their sides facing each other, a soft smile on his face. Jensen reaches out to clasp his broad shoulders with both hands, clinging to Jared like he's drowning and Jared is the only one keeping him afloat, and finds himself staring into gold-rimmed eyes flecked with hazel. He doesn't know what he expects to find there, doesn't know if he's expecting anything at all, not when he already knows everything that lies in Jared's heart. Slowly Jared brings up a hand, gently takes their braids, and Jensen shudders violently as the bond severs, doesn't break his hold on Jared.
He opens his mouth, only to be silenced by a hastily-placed finger. Jared smiles. "Don't talk. The time for talking is later."
Jensen blinks, nods, and relaxes a little when Jared settles more comfortably in his arms. The mossy ground is soft under them, the night warm even though they're both mostly unclothed. There doesn't seem to be much incentive for them to get up, to return to Home Tree just yet, and so Jensen rests his head on his arm, curls himself around Jared, letting the warmth from their bodies mingle together, and listens to Jared's breathing until they both fall asleep.
Jensen wakes up in the lab, under the impersonal beige dome of his link bed, and it seems like a pretty cruel joke that the universe is playing on him right about now. He takes a deep breath, shoves at the lid of the bed, flinches when his back spasms under the movement. He's spent nearly twenty-four hours straight in here, thanks to everything that's happened in the outside world over the past few days, and now it looks like his body is going to make him pay for it dearly. Luckily the lid is hydraulically powered, so getting that off isn't too hard, but how he's going to so much as sit up, let alone get into his chair, is another matter entirely.
"Took you long enough," Grace sounds amused. He turns his head to find her lounging in a chair a few feet away. "I was afraid you might let yourself starve to death in there. Your vital signs did all sorts of interesting things, too. I take it you had a good time?"
He allows himself a grin. "It wasn't bad."
She snorts, rolls her eyes. "I'll bet. You want to give me more details than that, maybe?"
His grin widens at that, and suddenly he doesn't even care anymore how much his back hurts or how uncomfortable it is to be lying here, neck craned at an awkward angle so he can watch Grace while he talks. "God, I don't even know how to tell you. It was...I don't know. Incredible doesn't feel like a big enough word."
That gets a smile from her. "So what happened?"
"I...Jared took me to the Vitraya Ramunong after the ceremony."
Grace's usual sardonic poise disappears and she leans over, her expression more eager than he's ever seen it. "He showed you the Mother Tree? My God, I would kill to be able to get in there. Outsiders aren't allowed."
"I think it was part of the rite, but it was after the feast. I just...I can't describe it. It was like I was connected to everything. I could see everything, feel everything."
"You know, taking alien hallucinogens isn't recommended, no matter what ceremonial purpose they serve."
He shakes his head, ignores the twinge of pain it sparks in his back. "No, it was the bond. Tsaheylu," he says, the word awkward on his human tongue.
"With a tree?"
"Sceptic," he mocks gently. "It was real. Jared said it was hearing the voices of the ancestors, but it was more than that. It was like, I don't know, like I could know everything, if I just figured out how not to get all my synapses fried in the process. It was like when I'm riding, or..." he stops before he can get to what he did with Jared. It's private, none of Grace's business. "It was everything, all at once."
Grace bites her lip. "You know what you're saying, right? This could be huge, could be the answer we've been looking for. I've had a theory about this place for a while now, that there's a neural link between everything, that it's mostly dormant, but that the Na'vi know how to access it. You're practically living proof of that," she says, eyes lighting up with excitement. "We're going to have to run tests..."
"Now I wish I hadn't told you," he protests weakly, not relishing the idea of being poked and prodded, either in this body or in his avatar.
Grace chuckles. "Sorry, Marine. Just tell yourself it's for science. Okay, food and sleep for you now," she pats his arm, starts walking toward the door. "You're not going back out there until I'm sure you're fit. Let's go."
Jensen squirms, resigns himself to having to spill the rest of his secrets with a sigh. "Uh, could you..." he gestures a little helplessly, and Grace turns back. "My back kind of seized up," he confesses.
To his relief she just nods, braces him far more expertly than he would have given her credit for, but rather than helping him to sit up she simply turns him onto his stomach. He lets out a small grunt of surprise when he feels her fingers play along his back, then press against one of the tight knots of muscle.
"This the place?"
"Uh, one of them, yeah."
"This is going to hurt," Grace warns him, and he barely has time to blink before her thumbs are digging into his back, right into the knot she was only barely touching before. He yelps, lets the sound die down to a muffled groan of pain. "Told you it was going to hurt."
"A little more warning would have been n —oh, God," Jensen groans again as the muscle loosens under her touch. "Jesus, where did you learn to do that?"
"You're better off not knowing," Grace says, keeping up a steady circular motion with her thumbs, moving up along his back and working out the kinks as she goes. She smells strongly of cigarette with just a hint of the pungent standard-issue antibacterial soap that's readily available in all the shower dispensers.
After a few moments, during which Jensen seriously considers a new career as a puddle —decent benefits and nothing to do all day except wait to evaporate in the sunlight— she breaks the silence again. "You're taking shit care of yourself, Marine."
He snorts. "I'm fine."
"Like hell. You're skin and bone. I haven't seen you perform so much as a single bicep curl ever since we left for the mountains. Your muscles have atrophied, and not just in your legs. Don't tell me you haven't looked in a mirror since then, I know you have."
He shifts uncomfortably on the link bed. "There hasn't been time. And I couldn't exactly work out while I was sick. That didn't really help."
Grace hums, but it doesn't sound like she's agreeing with him. Before he realizes what she's doing she's pulled down the waistband of his sweatpants.
"Hey!"
"Don't be a baby, it's not like I haven't seen your unclothed ass before, Jensen. You're getting a sore on your hip," she says, and he thinks she might be prodding at it, even though he can't feel what she's doing. "Stay put, I'm going to go find some antibiotic cream and some gauze. The last thing we need is for you to get another infection. I have no idea if another seizure in the link could kill you, but I am definitely not in the mood to find out, especially not before I've had time to run some tests on you."
There's no arguing with Grace about certain things, so he just lets his head drop onto his forearms, lies still while she cleans and dresses the sore —or whatever she imagines might be the beginnings of one. Jensen's never been much of a stickler for that sort of thing, but he does remember from the hospital how unpleasant pressure sores can get, how serious the repercussions can be even without the added strain of being linked up for hours with an avatar. Grace pulls his pants back up, and gives him a light slap on the small of the back.
"All right, you're all set. You need help getting back into the chair?"
He shakes his head. "I got it," he assures her, then sets about trying to prove it as best he can by leveraging himself slowly onto the vinyl seat of the wheelchair, feeling the muscles in his back begin to cramp and seize again even after that small exertion. It's disheartening, in a way, to have his body unable to perform even the simplest of tasks without it feeling like someone's taking a vegetable peeler to his spinal column.
"I know you're probably going to have reconstructive surgery when you go back to Earth," Grace says, almost out of the blue. "If you're going that route, it's all the more reason to keep up with your physiotherapy. You're going to need all the muscle tone you can get once you get the feeling back in your legs."
Jensen leans heavily on the arms of the chair. "And if I don't get the surgery?"
"Then you'll need the extra muscle tone to keep the worst of the pain at bay. And you don't need to pretend that you're not in pain most of the time. I'm a doctor, I notice these things."
"Right."
"I doesn't take anything away from you, you know. Chronic pain isn't a weakness, it's just a symptom, and one that can be managed. Whatever else you might think, you don't deserve to suffer."
It would be churlish in the extreme to tell her exactly what he thinks of her advice. "I really, really wish you'd stop trying to psychoanalyse me. I'm not your lab rat and I'm not your kid," he snaps, whips his chair around 180 degrees and pushes himself out the door to the lab before he can see the expression that he's put on her face.
The days blur together after that. Jensen spends almost all of his waking hours in the link, flying with Jared and Tsu'tey and the other hunters. They teach him to hunt while on the banshee, and unlike the abysmal horse riding lessons, he proves to be something of a natural at flying, which amazes no one more than Jensen himself. The first time he manages to bring himself into a crouching position is more than a little terrifying, but he takes careful aim with his bow, balancing easily on the banshee's back, lets loose with an arrow and brings down a young sturmbeest, watching it tumble when its legs suddenly give out mid-gallop. There's a whoop from Jared, and when he looks up he even thinks he catches a look of grudging admiration from Tsu'tey himself.
Within a week Jensen is out-flying almost all the hunters except for Jared and Tsu'tey, who are widely acknowledged as the best riders in the tribe, better even than many of the banshee riders from the south. What brings him the most acclaim, though, is his willingness to try new things, to throw himself headlong into the air and just be one with his mount. When he first starts talking about flight manoeuvres with Jared, he's met with a laugh and a puzzled stare.
"I don't understand. What do you mean, to form the meikran?"
"No, not form. Formation. Like when you're going into battle, right? We do it with planes and choppers. To make sure your attack is as successful as possible. You don't want people flying every which way, getting in each other's way, right? Some of the hunters do that, they fly right in front of you and block your shot."
Jared nods. "Yes, the young and the inexperienced. And some others."
"Exactly!" Jensen warms to his subject. "And not only does it mess with your hunt, but it's dangerous. I mean, what if they fly in front of you just as you take your shot? You could hit the hunter, or the ikran, and they could be injured or killed. So you teach the hunters to fly in formation."
Jensen gathers up a bunch of fruit, lays them down on the ground to demonstrate. "You already sort of do it, like it's instinct. The meikran are like birds, they fly in flocks, and flocks are a formation. Those purple birds with the weird beaks fly in a 'V' formation, like this," he moves the fruit around. "It's because that way they all ride the air current created by the birds in front of them, and the strongest bird leads the flock."
"I see," Jared leans forward, rearranges the fruit again. "If we are to fly like this, then there are to be two groups that can be separate to hunt, and bring the herds about."
"Uh, yeah, I think. You mean one group of hunters drives the sturmbeest toward the others, right?"
"Yes."
"Okay, yeah, that would totally work," Jensen nods enthusiastically. "You're totally a natural at this, our air force guys would love you."
Jared pulls him up by an elbow. "I want to go now."
"What, like, try out the manoeuvre now?"
"Yes."
"But there's only the two of us."
Jared looks at him like he's grown an extra head. "I don't understand why that matters."
"You can't fly a formation with just two people. It defeats the purpose."
"We try it. It is a test."
"A dry run," Jensen rubs the back of his neck. "Okay, sure. Come on then, let's go."
It's not like Jensen needs much of an excuse to saddle up—metaphorically speaking, since the meikran don't take kindly to their riders using anything except the bond when they're aloft. He enjoys the feeling of the wind rushing by far too much to ever refuse the offer of going flying. His ikran, which he named Beidai when Jared made it clear that he couldn't not name her —or worse, name her Skippy— is a fearsome creature, almost too wild to be ridden. She won't let any of the other hunters so much as come near her. She's older than most of the other meikran who allow themselves to be ridden, Jared told him on their first day.
"Actually, that's pretty appropriate, since I'm a lot older than most people are when they become hunters," Jensen had said with a shrug. He kind of likes the fact that the two of them form an unconventional pair, a bit like him and Jared, in fact.
He and Jared have slowed things down a little bit, of common accord. Jensen's still adjusting to having his mind literally blown, and he thinks Jared might have found the —feedback, for lack of a better word, a little overwhelming to deal with as well. The whole experience of feeling someone else's emotions at the same time is still a little too intense for either of them to be entirely comfortable with it. Jensen thinks it might also have something to do with the fact that his own thought processes are a little too alien for Jared to cope with, too. The Na'vi, while not exactly free of negative emotions, aren't nearly as self-conscious and neurotic as most humans. Or maybe that's just Jared; it's not like Jensen has any basis for comparison.
Jared bumps shoulders with him, derailing his train of thought before it can get too dark. "Come on, it is going to be dark soon!"
It's a matter of moments to call the meikran to them, and soon they're aloft with a few beats of the banshees' powerful wings, soaring above the treetops. Jared immediately takes the lead, flying away from the treetops and toward the plains to the west of the mountains, where he proceeds to try and put his plan into action on an unsuspecting herd of yerik. The animals bleat in fear and gallop away as fast as they can under the sudden onslaught, with Jared whooping and laughing as he tries to drive them toward Jensen. If he had another two or three riders with him, Jensen thinks, they might make some headway. As it is, the herd splits apart, and try as he might Jared can't quite get them to all go in the direction he wants. It doesn't prevent him from trying, though, and soon Jensen finds himself laughing and joining in the chase, swooping after the panicked herd until they thunder far enough away to be clear of their tormentors.
Jensen takes Beidai in a slow, lazy circle, scanning the air for Jared, trying not to worry when he realizes he's lost sight of him. He risks a glance over the banshee's neck, trying to see if Jared might not be below him, and that's when he catches sight of a huge shadow overtaking his own, right above. He twists in his seat, looks up in time to see the most enormous creature he's ever laid eyes on bearing down on him, talons outstretched, its wingspan blotting out the light of the sun.
The wind whips away the scream that tears itself from his throat, and he has just enough presence of mind to make Beidai bank sharply to the left, and the great bird's claws miss them by inches. There's a shriek of fury from below them, a great boom as leathery wings beat against the sky. He can hear Jared calling to him from far away, can only hope that he's far beyond the reach of this new threat, whatever it is, and urges Beidai forward as fast as she can manage. Luckily the banshee needs very little encouragement. He can feel the terrified hammering of her heart, adrenaline coursing through both of them, and she puts on a burst of speed the likes of which he never suspected her capable of, aiming for the nearest line of trees. He can hear the great bird rising back into the air behind him, preparing to give chase, knows that it's just a matter of time before it catches up. Speed is the only thing that will save them—even if he had his bow he suspects it would be next to useless against such a monster. Once among the trees, though, he'll have a chance at survival.
Beidai hurtles through the air, no longer chasing after wind currents, her frantic wing beats propelling them toward the forest. They reach the trees in the nick of time, the great bird pulling up short behind them and rising up above the treetops with another frustrated scream. Beidai keeps flying, weaving in and out of the tree trunks with reckless abandon, heedless of her own safety or her rider's, her mind almost blanked out with panic, until Jensen recovers himself enough to realize that it's partly his own terror that's making her act this way. He forces himself to send a calming impulse through the bond, orders her to slow down. Eventually she finds a perch in a large tree where they both come to a grinding halt and all but collapse, safe for the moment.
Jared finds them several minutes later, nestled in the branches of the tree, breathing hard. but otherwise unharmed. "Jensen!" he calls out, bringing Zeizei to a halt nearby and all but leaping from her back. "You are hurt?"
Jensen shakes his head. "No, no I'm fine. Just about pissed myself, but we're okay, both of us. What the hell was that thing?"
"It is Toruk."
It's only when they're back in the relative safety of Home Tree that Jared continues to explain about the Toruk. He takes Jensen through the great carved halls until they reach a room filled with what look like animal totems. At the far end, Jensen sees a bird-like skeleton that spans almost the entire wall, the skull a familiar-looking shape.
"This is Toruk," Jared says, and points to the wall, which is covered in what looks like the elaborate illustration of a story. There image of the bird-thing is unmistakable, even stylized like this. "Toruk is master of the sky."
"Last shadow?" Jensen tests his translation of the name, and Jared nods. "Makes sense. It's the last shadow you ever see before you die," he shudders. "So what's going on in here? Is it a hunt? Is that a guy on the Toruk's back?"
"That is Toruk Macto, the greatest of all the riders. It is the Na'vi way, to become rider with ikran. But when there is great trouble, then it is said that Toruk Macto always appears and unites all the tribes, to fight against the darkness.
"Rider of the last shadow?"
Jared nods. "My ancestor —father of my mother's father's father— was Toruk Macto."
Jensen feels his eyes widen, impressed in spite of himself, and Jared continues, encouraged by his silence.
"The stories speak of it. He tamed the great shadow and appeared before the tribes one by one, and they knelt before him and agreed to set aside their differences." He reaches out to grasp Jensen’s wrist, thumb pressing against the pulse-point in the way the Na’vi have when they’re imparting something vital. "The sorrows ended, they say, for a thousand years. They also say that when a thousand years pass and the Toruk comes again, it will be to change everything we know and all of history will begin anew."
Jensen can't think of anything to say to that that doesn't sound lame, but he does make a point of asking about the creature when he gets back to the lab that night.
"It's the Great Leonopteryx," Grace tells him, pulling up images from the video feed. "It's probably from the same family as the banshees, it has the same general physiology."
Jensen stares at the images, fascinated in spite of himself. Before all he had been aware of were the massive jaws and the great beating wings, but now that he has a chance to see the Toruk from a distance, as it were, he can begin to appreciate just how beautiful the creature really is. Grace is right —it looks a lot like a banshee, only about a million times larger. It's enormous, striped scarlet, yellow, and black along its back and wings, with a midnight blue crested head.
"It's beautiful," he repeats aloud, and Grace stares at him, obviously surprised.
"Don't tell me you have a poet's soul hiding in there, Marine."
"Bite me. What the hell is a leonopt...whatever."
"Don't strain yourself," she rejoins dryly. "What you're seeing here is the apex of the food chain."
"Baddest cat in the sky," Trudy's voice comes from behind them. She's leaning in the doorway, arms folded over her chest, one leg crossed over the other.
"You were lucky," Grace nods. "Not only is it really rare, but the sightings tend not to get reported."
Trudy saunters forward and makes a show of making an exaggerating clicking motion with her thumb. "What she means is there usually isn't time to key the mike before..." she draws her thumb across her throat.
"The people call it Toruk."
"Last shadow," Norm breaks in helpfully.
"I know that, thanks. I figure they call it that because it's the last one you'll ever see," Jensen finds himself staring at the image, not wanting to look and see the expression on Trudy's face.
"I saw one take out a gunship, once. BAM! Total freaking yard sale. It ate the crew like they were a pack of salted peanuts."
The aerial footage is still rolling, the Leonopteryx long since vanished, and Jensen spots a familiar-looking grove. "Hey, that's it! That's where Jared took me. The Vitraya Ramunong. "
Norm boggles. "You never told me you got to see the Well of Souls!"
"You didn't ask. I told Grace. What, you expect me to report to you too?" Jensen snaps, then subsides at a look from Grace.
"I just... it's their most sacred place. I never... they must really trust you," Norm breathes, eyes bright, his expression caught between admiration and envy. Jensen squirms.
"Right."
"I'd die to get in there and get some samples, but outsiders are strictly forbidden. I don't suppose you could ask Ìla'rey if they could make an exception?" Grace looks hopefully at Jensen.
"No idea. I can ask, but sometimes they get weird about that sort of thing."
"I can't ask for more than that. Maybe they'll let you take samples, if you ask nicely enough. I can show you how so you don't wreck them." Abruptly Grace punches the 'pause' button. "Okay, show and tell is over, kids. Norm, let's go, those works aren't going to translate themselves. Jensen, take a damn shower, and for God's sake eat something. You stand sideways and stick out your tongue people are going to mistake you for a zipper."
Jensen snorts. "Stand sideways. That's real funny."
"You know what I meant. Get something to eat or I'll have a feeding tube put in whether you want it or not."
He rolls his eyes, but there's no point in arguing with her about this. She and Norm disappear around the corner, leaving him staring at the paused image of the Vitraya Ramunong. Trudy hasn't moved from her position behind him.
"You know, this is exactly the kind of information the Colonel wants," she says quietly.
Jensen's already downloading the images and the coordinates on a chip. He doesn't know what he's going to do with it yet, but duty dictates he give it over to his commanding officer. It's what he's always done, although this is the first time he's ever really considered disobeying a direct order.
"If you don't give him something, he's going to shut all of this down," Trudy says. "Norm would probably pitch a fit if he knew I was telling you this, and Grace would pitch me out an airlock, but I know what your orders are. You, amigo, are between the proverbial rock and a hard place, and I don't envy you in the slightest."
Jensen stares at the memory chip in his palm. It looks tiny and fragile, nothing big enough to threaten everything that the Na'vi hold dear. All he has to do is hand it over to Quaritch and his work will be done. He'll be rotated back to earth, get the surgery, see his family again. He doesn't know if all the money he's earned in the past few years is enough to get them away from the contaminated ranch they were living on, but he thinks it might well be. They received all his danger pay as well as his regular pay, since he had literally nowhere to spend it, so the only thing left is to earn the money for his surgery. Quaritch has already promised is going to happen anyway, so there's no reason to stay here, not anymore. Except that Jensen has every reason to stay here.
"Grace and Norm, they're not going to tell you this," Trudy drops to a crouch in front of his wheelchair. "I get that you like the guy. I don't know him, but I've seen him a couple of times, I saw him when he came to see you when you got sick. I like you. I think he's probably okay too. But you can't be with him."
Jensen's head jerks up at that. "What? How do you―"
"I'm not stupid, and Norm has a big mouth," she grins, then sobers immediately. "Look, Grace, she's a romantic, even if she acts all tough. Norm likes the idea too, even if he's an ass sometimes. Me? I'm a realist. You can get all freaky with your alien guy out there, but he lives here and you don't. You being with him costs millions of dollars and takes all this," she gestures at the lab, "to keep up. You take a good look at yourself in the mirror tonight, amigo, and then you come back and tell me if you don't think this trying to live in two worlds isn't killing you."
With that she pushes herself to her feet and walks out the door to the lab, leaving him to stare at the data chip still cradled in his palms.
Part IVa
Part IIIa
It’s Jensen’s first time at an official Na’vi ceremony, and by the time Jared has finished explaining all the intricacies of protocol Jensen is feeling a little overwhelmed. It’s nothing too formal, but there are layers in the Na’vi hierarchy that he never even suspected existed, and each needs to be paid its proper respect. Jared laughs when Jensen confesses just how nervous he is, all while carefully applying white ceremonial paint to Jensen’s face.
"You will do well, Jensen," he says, dipping his fingers into the bowl of pigment. "The People know you are new to our ways, that you are learning. Tonight you will prove what you learned, and all will be well. Be still," he orders sternly when Jensen squirms under his touch.
They haven’t discussed the kiss at all, not since the first day upon Jensen’s return. Jared seemed certain that this was something he was okay with, at least, but Jensen can’t banish the conversation with Grace from his mind. He can’t tell if Jared’s been hurt by his reticence or if he’s relieved or if he just doesn’t care. Jared seems content to let the matter lie, and Jensen is too busy tying himself into knots over it to want to bring it up all on his own. He tries not to shiver as Jared’s fingers travel down his torso, painting increasingly elaborate designs over his chest and stomach. Finally Jared seems satisfied with his work, extends his hands —fingers still covered in white paint— for Jensen to take, and pulls him to his feet.
"Are you ready?"
"As I’ll ever be, I guess."
It’s been dark for over an hour already, and by the time Jensen and Jared arrive in the huge clearing at the foot of Home Tree where the Omaticaya hold their most important ceremonies all the cooking fires are blazing brightly, the smell of roasted meat hanging heavy in the air. The forest around seems muted under the glare of the flames, as though for this one night it’s the Na’vi who have precedence over all the other inhabitants. Even the plants’ natural luminescence seems dimmer than usual, Jensen notes before all his attention comes back to Mo’at and Eytukan, standing at one end of the clearing, the huge trunk of Home Tree at their backs.
Mo’at raises both arms in a clear gesture demanding silence, and immediately the clamour of voices dies down, leaving behind only the whisper of the wind and the crackling of flame. At a nudge from Jared, Jensen steps forward along with the other two hunters who accompanied him to Iknimaya to ride the banshees. He forces himself to stand very still, not quite at parade rest because it would look out of place, as Mo’at paces slowly in front of them, intoning some sort of complex chant that he can’t quite make out. He can pick out a few words here and there, but he gets the impression that this is an older version of the language, maybe some sort of ceremonial variant —Grace would know better than he does, he thinks— that isn’t used by anyone other than the tsahik. He resists the impulse to fidget or flinch away when she dips her hand first in a bowl of yellow pigment, then in a bowl of red pigment, and sets about adding to the design that Jared already painted on his face and chest.
Finally she stands back, satisfied with her work, and nods once. At her signal, Eytukan steps forward, the necklace of Thanator claws clacking loudly in the stillness.
"Ngenga 'itan omatikayaä luyu set. Na'viyä luyu hapxì! " he declares.
And with that, it appears the official part of the ceremony is over. Jensen finds himself suddenly swarmed by Na’vi youths, patted on the back and congratulated, the air ringing with laughter and shouts until a strong hand grabs him by the arm and hauls him out of the crowd. He almost loses his footing, ends up practically falling into Jared’s arms and, looking up, he finds Jared grinning down at him.
"Congratulations, Jensen."
He grins back. "So I guess now we celebrate?"
Jared nods. "Now we celebrate."
Jensen doesn’t remember ever spending a night this intense, not even in his wildest days serving with the army. What starts out as an evening of eating and singing and telling improbable stories of hunting prowess quickly turns to dancing and singing even louder amidst shrieks of laughter and delight from the younger members of the tribe who are still awake for the festivities. Somewhere after Jensen’s fourth bowl of food Tsu’tey approaches him, wooden bowl in hand, holds it out to him. Jensen looks at him, trying to figure out if it’s an olive branch or a challenge, decides it doesn’t much matter, accepts the bowl and takes a long swallow of the strong-smelling liquid in it. It hits the back of his throat, burns its way into his stomach, and he barely manages not to choke and cough. Tsu’tey grins, takes the bowl back and takes a drink of his own.
"You not used to drink, I think?" he says, dropping to sit cross-legged next to Jensen, jabs an elbow none too gently into his ribs.
"Oh, no, we’ve got plenty of booze where I come from," Jensen assures him.
Tsu'tey throws his head back with a bark of laughter. "Then drink with me, now that you are taronyu. Then when you have had enough, you will dance. It is the way," he says, more seriously.
"You should not drink too much," Jared warns him in an undertone. "It is very strong."
"I'll watch myself," Jensen assures him, even though he thinks it might well be a lie.
The stuff is damned potent, vaguely reminiscent of kava, and Jensen finds himself having to match Tsu'tey drink for drink. He feels light-headed, a little giddy by the time he's had his fourth drink, but he's also feeling decently brave now that the alcohol is in his stomach and Jared is still at his back. Also, to his considerable relief, Tsu'tey appears to be just as far gone as he is.
"I thought —enough drink— you would not be so ugly," he slurs, slinging an arm over Jensen's shoulders. "But your eyes are still too small. How do you see with such small eyes?"
"Badly," Jensen manages with a giggle, and is rewarded with a matching fit of giggles from Tsu'tey. It's weird, seeing the normally-intense warrior this loose and unguarded in his responses, and that just makes Jensen giggle harder. When he bothers to think about it at all, he decides that the alcohol is probably a lot stronger than anything he's used to. Or something.
"That is what I say," Tsu'tey agrees. "But you are not so bad. I see how you rid the ikran. You fly well, Jensen. He flies well, yes?" he looks over at Jared, who is the only one who hasn't been drinking from the bowl. Jared rolls his eyes but gives them a good-natured smile and nods. "I tell Ìla'rey, the Sky People are cowards. Hide inside the big―" he gestures vaguely, the alcohol interfering with his already-limited English vocabulary.
"Choppers?" Jensen suggests, but Tsu'tey shakes his head. "Machines?"
"Yes, machines," Tsu'tey agrees. "Cowards. Fight from far away. But you —you make good, clean kill. I did not think Sky People can do this."
"I guess we're all full of surprises," Jensen rejoins dryly, and Tsu'tey keeps laughing. Jensen looks over his head at Jared. "Your friend can't hold his liquor!"
Jared springs to his feet, pulling Jensen along with him and toppling Tsu'tey into an undignified heap on the ground. Tsu'tey makes a half-hearted protest, but a moment later another young warrior has taken Jensen's place and is refilling the bowl with pungent-smelling alcohol.
"He will be fine," Jared doesn't quite answer Jensen's implied question. "Now come dance."
"It's the way, right?"
"It is the way," Jared agrees, and pulls him into the circle of dancing people.
Jensen was never much one for dancing when he was back on Earth. There were a couple of times that he went into bars or clubs, danced with a few likely-looking prospects, but the dancing part was usually short-lived as soon as he found someone to hook up with. He certainly never got into the habit of dancing for the sake of dancing. It was always a means to an end. This, though, this is entirely different. The drums have been beating almost incessantly from the moment the feast got under way, the drummers relaying each other at the their instruments so that everyone might have a turn at the food and the dancing as well as the drumming, and the relentless beat seems to come up through the ground and into the soles of Jensen's bare feet, filling him slowly from the bottom up.
Jared is grinning widely, body already beginning to sway to the beat. All around them the young men and women of the tribe are lost in the sound, in the thrumming rhythm all around them, bodies swaying and gyrating in a complex pattern that seems to come naturally to them. Jared's eyes close as he dances, and Jensen finds himself watching him, transfixed, still a little unbalanced by the unaccustomed excitement and all the alcohol he's just consumed. Jared is beautiful like this, all grace and power and joyful abandon, his muscles rippling effortlessly as he moves to the rhythm of the music.
"You are not dancing!" Jared's eyes open, and he gives Jensen a mock-glare. "Come!"
Jensen stumbles forward, suddenly self-conscious and feeling like he's got two left feet and an extra arm. He tries to mimic the other dancers, almost trips over himself, wants nothing more than to find a way to extricate himself from this bizarre almost-nightmare and just watch from the safety of the sidelines, but there's no resisting Jared when he wants something. Then suddenly Jared is behind him, large hands coming to rest on Jensen's hips, still moving effortlessly in time with the music.
"You are thinking too much," Jared says into his ear, breath hot against his neck, and it sends a shiver down Jensen's spine. "This is not time to think. You have learned how to hear. Listen and hear and do not think."
Jared's hands are searing prints into his skin. It feels like his whole body is thrumming with electricity, alive and more than a little aroused. Jensen is just glad that no one around seems to be paying any attention to that. Jared pushes him, presses up close behind him, still dancing, though his movements are a little more subdued. Like this it's easy to match his every move, to let the undulation of his hips guide him, to feel the rhythm coming up through the ground and dictate to his body what needs to be done. Jared doesn't speak after that, but Jensen can feel that, whatever it is he's doing, Jared approves and even seems like he's enjoying it. It's a weird, unaccustomed sensation, but he welcomes it, lets it flood through him along with the rest of the music.
The dance grows wilder around them, accompanied by whoops and yells of delight. The drumbeat grows more frantic, and soon there's nothing left in Jensen's mind but the relentless pounding of the drums, the white-hot sensation of Jared's fingers travelling along his skin, moving him and letting himself be moved at the same time under the canopy of trees. The fires begin to die down, the embers casting flickering shadows among the trees, the smell of burning woods and long-cooked meat permeating the air under the pungent, wet, sweet smell of the rainforest itself. Jensen keeps dancing, eyes closing of their own accord, letting his body perform movements that now feel as though he's been doing this forever, safe in Jared's arms and surrounded by the protective barrier of the trees.
It's almost a shock to realize that the music has stopped. He comes to a standstill, heart thundering in his chest, blood roaring in his ears, to find Jared's arms still wrapped around him from behind.
"Where did everybody go?" Jensen asks a bit stupidly, as Jared leads him away from the clearing. Or, rather, herds him away from the clearing, ushering him forward by the expedient of putting both hands on Jensen's shoulders and pushing gently. Jensen's whole being is still thrumming with adrenaline, music and alcohol. He feels a little disconnected from his body, like he's floating a couple of inches off the ground, as though nothing around him is really real. He wonders if enough alcohol would sever the link and send him back to his body. He hopes not.
"They are still there. You just do not see them."
"That makes no sense," Jensen twists to try to look behind him, but his view is blocked by Jared's shoulder. It's kind of unfair that he's so tall, he thinks petulantly. Then again, the tall thing has its perks, and Jared is a huge, solid, reassuring presence behind him. The only constant he's had these past few months.
"That is because you still don't see."
Jensen manages to avoid tripping over a protruding root, held in place by the hands on his shoulders. "I thought I passed that test?"
"It is not a test," Jared huffs a laugh. "You are taronyu now, but even taronayu continue to learn even after they are accepted by the eytkan. You think learning stops just because you ride ikran once?"
"Um."
Jared jerks them both to a halt. "Stop, Jensen, and see."
Jensen does as he's told, stands very still and makes a point of looking around instead of staring at his feet in order not to trip and fall flat on his face. He figures at this point he's beyond the immediate risk of a pratfall anyway. He raises his eyes, can't quite stifle the gasp that rises in his throat.
"Oh my God."
He doesn't know for how long they were walking, doesn't quite remember how they got here, but he's certain he's never seen this place before. They're standing in a grove of what Jensen can only think of as weeping willows. The trees, like all the others on Pandora, are impossibly tall, and though the great boughs are bent and their leaves trails toward the ground, he can barely make out where the lowest of them are joined to the huge trunks. Unlike all the other trees of the forest, though, these are pure white, as though all the colour had been leeched from them. Jensen remembers distantly that the colour white is simply the refraction of every single colour there is to be found, thinks it might be fitting that these trees are so pure that they send all the colour back out into the world.
"This is Vitraya Ramunong —the Well of Souls," Jared moves them forward, toward the largest tree of all, standing tall and gnarled and majestic at the centre of the grove. "This is the Great Tree, oldest of them all. The voices of fizayu —the ancestors—are loudest here, though when you learn to listen you can hear them always. This is the last part of your time as a child. Now you listen to the voices of fizayu, and you become a man."
Jensen's heart feels like it's crawled up into his mouth. It feels wrong, somehow, to be doing this. To be here, like this, when he's been lying from the start. He is standing next to the living, beating heart of the Omaticaya, and it feels dirty, to come to this place with mixed intentions.
"I don't know if I can..." he whispers, his voice strangled.
"The bond is the same," Jared mistakes his hesitation. "The tree will speak to you just as the ikran and the pa'li, if only you know how to listen. This time, though, it is the will of Eywa that will make itself heard. When you are on the pa'li or the ikran, it is your will that is important. Tonight, you learn to listen to the voice of Eywa."
Jensen swallows hard, feels his entire body grow cold, but he's come too far to turn back now. He reaches out tentatively, brushes his fingers against the surprisingly soft bark of the tree, sinks slowly to his knees on the ground. He startles a little when one of the branches brushes against his shoulder, can see the tiny ciliae waving like tendrils from where they protrude from both wood and leaf. It's obvious, now, what is expected of him, and so he reaches back and pulls his braid over his shoulder, brings it up just close enough to barely graze the tree branch. Immediately the tendrils at the tip wrap themselves around the proffered wood, and what feels like a bolt of lightning races through him. Everything disappears: Jared, the clearing, the trees, everything is replaced with whirling light and the joyous sound of voices raised in a song he will never be able to describe in words. The singing goes on forever, along with an undercurrent of gentle whispers. The light grows stronger and more gentle all at once, bathing him in a softness he's never known in his whole life, filling him with the kind of understanding he never suspected could even exist, and if he weren't already on the ground he's sure it would bring him to his knees.
He sees the rainforest from above and below. He sees it through the eyes of tiny mice that burrow among the roots of the bushes, and through the eyes of the banshees that soar high above the treetops. He sees the Na'vi move along their accustomed paths, and prowls through the underbrush with the Thanator. He tastes the blood of the sturmbeest as the Thanator consumes it, feels its wildly-beating heart come to a stop, feels the fear recede into peace as it rejoins the earth. He climbs into the trees, digs into the soil, scrambles among the rocks, soars along the air currents, and feels as though his heart might burst from the sheer joy of all this life thrumming all around him. There's a bright flash of colour behind his eyelids, and then nothing.
"Jensen!"
He opens his eyes to find himself lying flat on his back on the ground, staring up into the translucent branches of the trees, Jared looming over him, his face screwed up with worry, running his hands over Jensen's body as though searching for injuries. Jensen's still not sure where the earth ends and his own body begins, but he manages to locate his arm, reaches up to lay his hand on Jared's chest.
"I'm okay."
"You fell." Jared still looks worried. "Are you sick again?"
He shakes his head. "No, I'm fine. It was just...it was a lot."
Jared nods, sits back on his heels and blows out a relieved-sounding breath. "I forget you are not used to tsaheylu." He extends a hand, and when Jensen takes it he pulls him to his feet. "You are all right?"
"Yeah," Jensen breathes. "My God, Jared, it was...I can't even say. Is that what it's like for you all the time?"
Jared laughs. "Only here. We cannot speak with the ancestors all the day. They speak a great deal," he says, and Jensen laughs too.
"Fair enough."
"What did Eywa tell you?" Jared seems honestly curious, and Jensen wonders if maybe this is different for everyone who comes here. It's a trippy thought.
"Uh, I'm not sure. I mean, I saw the forest. I mean, really saw it. It's beautiful," he says a little lamely, but Jared is nodding as though he knows exactly what he's talking about.
"You are taronyu, now. One of the People, with a place in the tribe..." he says, and he seems oddly hesitant, a stark contrast with his usual cheerful, easygoing confidence. "The hunter may join the hunting parties, may make a bow of his own from one of the heart trees. If you wish..." he stops again, but Jensen doesn't know what to say and so stays silent, forcing him to continue. "If you wish, you may pay suit to one you want to have as mate."
Jensen swallows. "Uh, what would that mean, exactly?"
Jared's gaze cuts away and he takes a step back. "There are many young women of the tribe who find you pleasing to look at. They are interested by you, because you are not of the tribe, because you are different and new."
Jensen feels his face screw up into an expression of distaste. "What if I don't want to, uh, have one of them as a mate?"
"You don't have to," Jared assures him hastily, and Jensen is pretty sure that the expression on his face is one of carefully-disguised relief. "No one is forced to be with a mate if they choose not to. The People do not believe in this."
"What about you? Grace said you would have to, you know, find a nice Na'vi girl and make lots of babies. Well, at least one baby."
Jared's face flushes, and he still won't meet Jensen's eyes. "It is different for me. I have a responsibility."
"Because you're going to be the next tsahik?"
"Yes."
Jensen moves closer to him, so that their bodies are almost touching. Being this close to Jared is more intoxicating than anything he's consumed that day, his whole body vibrating with anticipation, with want. "Is that what you want?"
Jared swallows, but doesn't move away. "I have spent many years doing what I want. That time is coming to an end."
Jensen can feel the heat from Jared's skin seeping into his own. They're standing so close that it's impossible not to notice that Jared is just as aroused as he is by now, even though they aren't quite touching.
"What about right now?"
"I should not."
"Why not? Who will it hurt?"
Jared makes a sound that sounds like it's caught between a sob and a laugh. "My mother would disapprove."
"Because I'm a man, or because I'm a Dreamwalker?"
"Both. She does not believe you are truly Na'vi. She believes I can't truly love you."
The word sends tiny sparks down Jensen's spine. "And what do you believe?" he asks, can barely make his throat work. "You keep telling me I need to learn to see, to hear. So what do your eyes tell you? What does your heart tell you?" he cringes as the words come out of his mouth, half-afraid Jared will laugh at him, but he lays his hand over Jared's heart as he speaks, and is sure he's not imagining it when he feels it speed up under his palm.
Jared doesn't bother answering, just bends his head a little, and his lips brush against Jensen's, so tentatively at first that Jensen can barely feel it. Then he gains a little in assurance, confidence bolstered when Jensen doesn't pull away, and the kiss becomes more insistent, his tongue pushing at Jensen's lips, demanding access, and Jensen sees no reason at all to refuse. It's different here, standing under the Mother Tree, nothing like that first kiss at the waterfall which was filled with sunlight and laughter. This time Jensen is still halfway overcome by the dance and the final bond with the Mother Tree, and it feels as though Jared is trying to pull Jensen right inside himself, heated skin pressed to heated skin, both hands clasping either side of Jensen's face as though to keep him rooted to the spot.
The kiss seems to last a lifetime and no time at all, until Jensen is forced to pull back and suck in a shuddering breath. His whole body is vibrating with sensations that are at once alien and yet all-too-familiar, with aching need and desire, and all he wants is for Jared to grab him again and keep kissing him until he forgets his own name. Jared is still pressed up against him, and Jensen can feel the hard length of his erection rubbing against his thigh, feels his own dick throb under the skimpy ceremonial clothing he donned what seems like centuries ago.
"God, Jared," he murmurs, unable to feel self-conscious even though Jared is staring at him with those huge golden, cat-slit eyes as though he's the most precious thing in the universe, or as though he might simply vanish into thin air if he so much as looks away for a moment. "So beautiful..."
Jared runs the tips of his fingers over Jensen's face, expression wondering and reverent at the same time. "She says you are not real, and yet I see you. How can you not be real?"
"I am real," Jensen insists. "Just try me."
Jared seems to take him at his word, because the next thing he knows Jared's arms are around him again, pulling him into another searing kiss, and the only thing Jensen can think now is more-more-more, the words looping around in his brain like trapped birds. He manages to free one of his hands, trapped between them in Jared's desperate bid to bring them both together, moves it down Jared's side, marvelling at the smooth strength of the muscles in his abdomen. He strokes Jared's thigh, eases his hand between them again and is rewarded with a jerk of Jared's hips and a small, needy-sounding moan as his fingers wrap around Jared's cock. This, at least, doesn't seem to be any different from what he's used to. He shoves a little at Jared, savouring the taste of his tongue while he twists his hand and pulls in short, sharp strokes, relishing the feel of Jared thrusting instinctively against his hand, until suddenly Jared pulls back, breathless, his pupils blown wide and even more alien-looking now.
"Wait," he manages, and before Jensen can so much as protest the sudden removal of the object of his desire he's hooked his legs around both of Jensen's, bearing him to the ground. He's still breathing hard, but there's more to it, Jensen can tell even while all of his body is screaming at him out of frustration and need.
"Jared, what?"
"Not just this," Jared straddles his hips, leaning over to kiss his way up Jensen's stomach. "You don't know."
Jensen wriggles under the attention, even while Jared's tongue is lapping at him. "Uh, God...Jared, this isn't the...oh, God. What?"
Jared makes a slightly frustrated noise and says something in Na'vi, much too fast for Jensen to understand. Not that Jensen can blame him —his own brain isn't exactly firing on all cylinders right at this moment, and English is far from being Jared's first language. "I want...you and me, now. Together," he says, reaches behind Jensen's head and gently tugs at his braid.
Oh. Oh.
Jared is still rubbing against him, and it's all Jensen can do not to buck against him, seeking out more friction than he's currently getting. He clutches at Jared's shoulders, fingers travelling until they find the braid hanging down his back. "Yeah, yeah Jared. Okay, yes, please!"
He has no idea what he's doing, but it doesn't seem to matter for Jared, who simply reaches around, brings the two braids together, and Jensen almost blacks out from the sudden rush of feelings. There's no easing into this, no keeping his eyes closed and waiting for the world to adjust. It's all a blur of want and need and desperate desire. He can see himself, head thrown back, blood suffusing his cheeks, can feel the burst of lust in the pit of Jared's stomach as he looks at him, feels his own desire coming back at him through the bond. He hears someone cry out, realizes he's hearing himself at the same time as Jared is. Jared moves, and the duelling sensation of his own pleasure and Jared's mingling together courses right through him like lightning. He utters another high, keening cry, bucking desperately under Jared's weight, fingers clawing at Jared's shoulders and he can feel his own fingernails scraping against skin, can't tell which shudder of pleasure is his and which is Jared's. It's too much, too fast, and the next thing he knows he's thrown his head back, coloured light sparking behind his eyes as he comes harder than he's ever come his life.
For several long moments after that everything is blessedly dark. He lies very still, can hear his heart thudding dully in his ears, until gradually his body begins to come alive again, humming with pleasure. He becomes aware first of his own body, then slowly realizes he's still not alone. There's a small burst of happiness, something that is entirely foreign to him that he recognizes as being all Jared, a feeling of contentment and pleasure at having been the source of pleasure for him. Jensen forces open his eyes, finds Jared still stretched out over him, their tswin still closely entwined.
"Oh my God," he manages.
"You are different from the Omaticaya. No one has ever been like that before, together," Jared says, and Jensen thinks he understands what he's trying to say.
"Total sensory overload," he agrees.
Jared laughs, and the laughter seeps right through into Jensen's mind and he laughs too, almost without knowing why. He can't even bring himself to feel ashamed of climaxing so quickly, not with Jared loose and happy above him, wanting him with undisguised lust and...Jensen is almost sure he can feel something under the immediate rush of physical desire, tries to reach out with his mind to see what it is, until Jared's hand brushes against his cock, still oversensitive from the incredible rush from before. He jerks, moans quietly at the back of his throat.
"God, what are you doing to me?"
Jared smirks. "You do not do this among the Sky People?"
Jensen deliberately jerks his hips, brings up a hand to reciprocate, even if the sensation is enough to want to make him lose his mind on the spot. "Don't even try. Is...I don't..." he gropes for words, but Jared places his free hand over Jensen's slips.
"Shh. You think too much, Jensen."
Jared is still rock-hard, pressed up against him. Whatever happened to Jensen, it looks like Jared is more in control of this than he is. Then again, Jared's had a lifetime to practice this and get used to experiencing more than one viewpoint at a time, so Jensen thinks he's doing okay, all things considered. His eyes flutter shut again in spite of himself as Jared begins to move again, this time more slowly, with less of the desperation from earlier, even though it's obvious that he's just as aroused as before. Jensen wonders if it's because he experienced some of the same release, if the fact that his own dick is already starting to take renewed interest in the proceedings is because he can feel how aroused Jared still is, which of them is feeling what...
"You are still thinking," Jared says, and reaches down to gently nudge a finger past Jensen's defences.
Jensen bucks against the sudden intrusion, has slightly wild, panicky thoughts about how he hasn't had any time to prepare for this, but Jared kisses him, and a feeling of calm that isn't his own washes through him.
"It's all right," Jared tells him, "I won't hurt you." Or maybe he thinks it, Jensen can't tell anymore, but he finds himself relaxing into Jared's touch anyway, forcing his muscles to loosen so that Jared's fingers can breach him.
It's not as though Jensen has never done anything like this before, but it's always been furtive, hurried affairs in sordid back rooms or nameless, faceless motel rooms. There wasn't room for much more, not in the kind of life he led, and that was fine by him, or at least he'd thought it was, up until now. Now, though, he's not so sure, because he doesn't remember any of it feeling anywhere close to this good. Even if Jared hadn't bonded them, he thinks a little breathlessly, letting his body move in time with the pace Jared is setting, back arching in a futile attempt to get just a little more contact, just a little closer, he's pretty sure he's never felt quite so close to anyone. Never felt like this, like he mattered at all.
There's a sudden, small pulse of sadness that lodges near his sternum, and Jared trails kisses along his jaw, down his neck, though his hand never ceases its movements. Jensen grips Jared's arms, tries not to tighten his hold so hard that he'll hurt him, confused by the odd emotion that's threatening to destroy what little concentration he has left.
"Jared...what...?"
Jared is busy lavishing attention on the spot where his neck joins his shoulder, but he understands the question well enough. Maybe he can just hear it in his mind, Jensen doesn't know.
"No one has cared for you, when you were joined," he murmurs, just loud enough that Jensen can hear it from the outside as well as through his thoughts. There's another small pulse of sadness, and for a moment he thinks Jared must feel sorry for him. It's not that, though, he realizes. There's no pretense, here, no holding back anything at all. The sadness he's feeling is just that, nothing more, nothing less, and he wonders if all that Jared is feeling from him is confusion and fear.
Jared pulls up, looks him in the eye. "No," he says, clearly and succinctly, and Jensen wants to laugh and sob at the same time.
There's another throb of emotion, one Jensen doesn't quite recognize at first until he feels it echoing back right at Jared from a place inside him he didn't even know existed up until now, and all he can think is that it's not enough, none of it is enough, and he yanks hard on Jared's shoulders, trying to pull him closer.
"Jared, Jared please. Please, now."
The rest of his pleas are swallowed by a kiss, but Jared is more than entirely in agreement with Jensen's request, withdrawing his hand and shifting his hips until he's lined up with Jensen. He doesn't stop to ask if Jensen is sure, if he's ready, because he knows, can feel it just the same way Jensen can feel everything that's happening to Jared's body. Jensen breaks the kiss, biting down on his lower lip with his teeth as Jared thrusts into him slowly, smoothly, not pausing but not going so fast as to hurt or overpower. It's still not enough, and Jensen wraps his legs around Jared's waist, urging him to move, to act on what he knows Jared is feeling but is trying to restrain.
"Come on," he moans, trying to banish the twinge of fear at the back of his mind, the voice that keeps trying to intrude on everything else to tell him that, when this is over, it's all going to go the way it always does.
He knows it's not true, can tell by the way Jared is holding him like he's his most cherished possession, by the look in his eyes, by the love he can feel pouring out of him now and pouring right back in. It's as though they're in a hall of mirrors, endless refractions of the same emotions coming back at him, growing smaller in the distance and yet amplified into infinity, until Jensen simply lets himself drown in the sensation. Until it's nothing but him and Jared, and then nothing but the bond, nothing except the moment in which they both come together and he doesn't know if he's himself or Jared or both, riding on a wave of pleasure and love until the wave crests and breaks and he can't even tell which of them is crying out anymore.
This time he comes down gently from his climax, held in Jared's arms, shivering with pleasure and more than a little with shock. Jared rolls them both until they're on their sides facing each other, a soft smile on his face. Jensen reaches out to clasp his broad shoulders with both hands, clinging to Jared like he's drowning and Jared is the only one keeping him afloat, and finds himself staring into gold-rimmed eyes flecked with hazel. He doesn't know what he expects to find there, doesn't know if he's expecting anything at all, not when he already knows everything that lies in Jared's heart. Slowly Jared brings up a hand, gently takes their braids, and Jensen shudders violently as the bond severs, doesn't break his hold on Jared.
He opens his mouth, only to be silenced by a hastily-placed finger. Jared smiles. "Don't talk. The time for talking is later."
Jensen blinks, nods, and relaxes a little when Jared settles more comfortably in his arms. The mossy ground is soft under them, the night warm even though they're both mostly unclothed. There doesn't seem to be much incentive for them to get up, to return to Home Tree just yet, and so Jensen rests his head on his arm, curls himself around Jared, letting the warmth from their bodies mingle together, and listens to Jared's breathing until they both fall asleep.
Jensen wakes up in the lab, under the impersonal beige dome of his link bed, and it seems like a pretty cruel joke that the universe is playing on him right about now. He takes a deep breath, shoves at the lid of the bed, flinches when his back spasms under the movement. He's spent nearly twenty-four hours straight in here, thanks to everything that's happened in the outside world over the past few days, and now it looks like his body is going to make him pay for it dearly. Luckily the lid is hydraulically powered, so getting that off isn't too hard, but how he's going to so much as sit up, let alone get into his chair, is another matter entirely.
"Took you long enough," Grace sounds amused. He turns his head to find her lounging in a chair a few feet away. "I was afraid you might let yourself starve to death in there. Your vital signs did all sorts of interesting things, too. I take it you had a good time?"
He allows himself a grin. "It wasn't bad."
She snorts, rolls her eyes. "I'll bet. You want to give me more details than that, maybe?"
His grin widens at that, and suddenly he doesn't even care anymore how much his back hurts or how uncomfortable it is to be lying here, neck craned at an awkward angle so he can watch Grace while he talks. "God, I don't even know how to tell you. It was...I don't know. Incredible doesn't feel like a big enough word."
That gets a smile from her. "So what happened?"
"I...Jared took me to the Vitraya Ramunong after the ceremony."
Grace's usual sardonic poise disappears and she leans over, her expression more eager than he's ever seen it. "He showed you the Mother Tree? My God, I would kill to be able to get in there. Outsiders aren't allowed."
"I think it was part of the rite, but it was after the feast. I just...I can't describe it. It was like I was connected to everything. I could see everything, feel everything."
"You know, taking alien hallucinogens isn't recommended, no matter what ceremonial purpose they serve."
He shakes his head, ignores the twinge of pain it sparks in his back. "No, it was the bond. Tsaheylu," he says, the word awkward on his human tongue.
"With a tree?"
"Sceptic," he mocks gently. "It was real. Jared said it was hearing the voices of the ancestors, but it was more than that. It was like, I don't know, like I could know everything, if I just figured out how not to get all my synapses fried in the process. It was like when I'm riding, or..." he stops before he can get to what he did with Jared. It's private, none of Grace's business. "It was everything, all at once."
Grace bites her lip. "You know what you're saying, right? This could be huge, could be the answer we've been looking for. I've had a theory about this place for a while now, that there's a neural link between everything, that it's mostly dormant, but that the Na'vi know how to access it. You're practically living proof of that," she says, eyes lighting up with excitement. "We're going to have to run tests..."
"Now I wish I hadn't told you," he protests weakly, not relishing the idea of being poked and prodded, either in this body or in his avatar.
Grace chuckles. "Sorry, Marine. Just tell yourself it's for science. Okay, food and sleep for you now," she pats his arm, starts walking toward the door. "You're not going back out there until I'm sure you're fit. Let's go."
Jensen squirms, resigns himself to having to spill the rest of his secrets with a sigh. "Uh, could you..." he gestures a little helplessly, and Grace turns back. "My back kind of seized up," he confesses.
To his relief she just nods, braces him far more expertly than he would have given her credit for, but rather than helping him to sit up she simply turns him onto his stomach. He lets out a small grunt of surprise when he feels her fingers play along his back, then press against one of the tight knots of muscle.
"This the place?"
"Uh, one of them, yeah."
"This is going to hurt," Grace warns him, and he barely has time to blink before her thumbs are digging into his back, right into the knot she was only barely touching before. He yelps, lets the sound die down to a muffled groan of pain. "Told you it was going to hurt."
"A little more warning would have been n —oh, God," Jensen groans again as the muscle loosens under her touch. "Jesus, where did you learn to do that?"
"You're better off not knowing," Grace says, keeping up a steady circular motion with her thumbs, moving up along his back and working out the kinks as she goes. She smells strongly of cigarette with just a hint of the pungent standard-issue antibacterial soap that's readily available in all the shower dispensers.
After a few moments, during which Jensen seriously considers a new career as a puddle —decent benefits and nothing to do all day except wait to evaporate in the sunlight— she breaks the silence again. "You're taking shit care of yourself, Marine."
He snorts. "I'm fine."
"Like hell. You're skin and bone. I haven't seen you perform so much as a single bicep curl ever since we left for the mountains. Your muscles have atrophied, and not just in your legs. Don't tell me you haven't looked in a mirror since then, I know you have."
He shifts uncomfortably on the link bed. "There hasn't been time. And I couldn't exactly work out while I was sick. That didn't really help."
Grace hums, but it doesn't sound like she's agreeing with him. Before he realizes what she's doing she's pulled down the waistband of his sweatpants.
"Hey!"
"Don't be a baby, it's not like I haven't seen your unclothed ass before, Jensen. You're getting a sore on your hip," she says, and he thinks she might be prodding at it, even though he can't feel what she's doing. "Stay put, I'm going to go find some antibiotic cream and some gauze. The last thing we need is for you to get another infection. I have no idea if another seizure in the link could kill you, but I am definitely not in the mood to find out, especially not before I've had time to run some tests on you."
There's no arguing with Grace about certain things, so he just lets his head drop onto his forearms, lies still while she cleans and dresses the sore —or whatever she imagines might be the beginnings of one. Jensen's never been much of a stickler for that sort of thing, but he does remember from the hospital how unpleasant pressure sores can get, how serious the repercussions can be even without the added strain of being linked up for hours with an avatar. Grace pulls his pants back up, and gives him a light slap on the small of the back.
"All right, you're all set. You need help getting back into the chair?"
He shakes his head. "I got it," he assures her, then sets about trying to prove it as best he can by leveraging himself slowly onto the vinyl seat of the wheelchair, feeling the muscles in his back begin to cramp and seize again even after that small exertion. It's disheartening, in a way, to have his body unable to perform even the simplest of tasks without it feeling like someone's taking a vegetable peeler to his spinal column.
"I know you're probably going to have reconstructive surgery when you go back to Earth," Grace says, almost out of the blue. "If you're going that route, it's all the more reason to keep up with your physiotherapy. You're going to need all the muscle tone you can get once you get the feeling back in your legs."
Jensen leans heavily on the arms of the chair. "And if I don't get the surgery?"
"Then you'll need the extra muscle tone to keep the worst of the pain at bay. And you don't need to pretend that you're not in pain most of the time. I'm a doctor, I notice these things."
"Right."
"I doesn't take anything away from you, you know. Chronic pain isn't a weakness, it's just a symptom, and one that can be managed. Whatever else you might think, you don't deserve to suffer."
It would be churlish in the extreme to tell her exactly what he thinks of her advice. "I really, really wish you'd stop trying to psychoanalyse me. I'm not your lab rat and I'm not your kid," he snaps, whips his chair around 180 degrees and pushes himself out the door to the lab before he can see the expression that he's put on her face.
The days blur together after that. Jensen spends almost all of his waking hours in the link, flying with Jared and Tsu'tey and the other hunters. They teach him to hunt while on the banshee, and unlike the abysmal horse riding lessons, he proves to be something of a natural at flying, which amazes no one more than Jensen himself. The first time he manages to bring himself into a crouching position is more than a little terrifying, but he takes careful aim with his bow, balancing easily on the banshee's back, lets loose with an arrow and brings down a young sturmbeest, watching it tumble when its legs suddenly give out mid-gallop. There's a whoop from Jared, and when he looks up he even thinks he catches a look of grudging admiration from Tsu'tey himself.
Within a week Jensen is out-flying almost all the hunters except for Jared and Tsu'tey, who are widely acknowledged as the best riders in the tribe, better even than many of the banshee riders from the south. What brings him the most acclaim, though, is his willingness to try new things, to throw himself headlong into the air and just be one with his mount. When he first starts talking about flight manoeuvres with Jared, he's met with a laugh and a puzzled stare.
"I don't understand. What do you mean, to form the meikran?"
"No, not form. Formation. Like when you're going into battle, right? We do it with planes and choppers. To make sure your attack is as successful as possible. You don't want people flying every which way, getting in each other's way, right? Some of the hunters do that, they fly right in front of you and block your shot."
Jared nods. "Yes, the young and the inexperienced. And some others."
"Exactly!" Jensen warms to his subject. "And not only does it mess with your hunt, but it's dangerous. I mean, what if they fly in front of you just as you take your shot? You could hit the hunter, or the ikran, and they could be injured or killed. So you teach the hunters to fly in formation."
Jensen gathers up a bunch of fruit, lays them down on the ground to demonstrate. "You already sort of do it, like it's instinct. The meikran are like birds, they fly in flocks, and flocks are a formation. Those purple birds with the weird beaks fly in a 'V' formation, like this," he moves the fruit around. "It's because that way they all ride the air current created by the birds in front of them, and the strongest bird leads the flock."
"I see," Jared leans forward, rearranges the fruit again. "If we are to fly like this, then there are to be two groups that can be separate to hunt, and bring the herds about."
"Uh, yeah, I think. You mean one group of hunters drives the sturmbeest toward the others, right?"
"Yes."
"Okay, yeah, that would totally work," Jensen nods enthusiastically. "You're totally a natural at this, our air force guys would love you."
Jared pulls him up by an elbow. "I want to go now."
"What, like, try out the manoeuvre now?"
"Yes."
"But there's only the two of us."
Jared looks at him like he's grown an extra head. "I don't understand why that matters."
"You can't fly a formation with just two people. It defeats the purpose."
"We try it. It is a test."
"A dry run," Jensen rubs the back of his neck. "Okay, sure. Come on then, let's go."
It's not like Jensen needs much of an excuse to saddle up—metaphorically speaking, since the meikran don't take kindly to their riders using anything except the bond when they're aloft. He enjoys the feeling of the wind rushing by far too much to ever refuse the offer of going flying. His ikran, which he named Beidai when Jared made it clear that he couldn't not name her —or worse, name her Skippy— is a fearsome creature, almost too wild to be ridden. She won't let any of the other hunters so much as come near her. She's older than most of the other meikran who allow themselves to be ridden, Jared told him on their first day.
"Actually, that's pretty appropriate, since I'm a lot older than most people are when they become hunters," Jensen had said with a shrug. He kind of likes the fact that the two of them form an unconventional pair, a bit like him and Jared, in fact.
He and Jared have slowed things down a little bit, of common accord. Jensen's still adjusting to having his mind literally blown, and he thinks Jared might have found the —feedback, for lack of a better word, a little overwhelming to deal with as well. The whole experience of feeling someone else's emotions at the same time is still a little too intense for either of them to be entirely comfortable with it. Jensen thinks it might also have something to do with the fact that his own thought processes are a little too alien for Jared to cope with, too. The Na'vi, while not exactly free of negative emotions, aren't nearly as self-conscious and neurotic as most humans. Or maybe that's just Jared; it's not like Jensen has any basis for comparison.
Jared bumps shoulders with him, derailing his train of thought before it can get too dark. "Come on, it is going to be dark soon!"
It's a matter of moments to call the meikran to them, and soon they're aloft with a few beats of the banshees' powerful wings, soaring above the treetops. Jared immediately takes the lead, flying away from the treetops and toward the plains to the west of the mountains, where he proceeds to try and put his plan into action on an unsuspecting herd of yerik. The animals bleat in fear and gallop away as fast as they can under the sudden onslaught, with Jared whooping and laughing as he tries to drive them toward Jensen. If he had another two or three riders with him, Jensen thinks, they might make some headway. As it is, the herd splits apart, and try as he might Jared can't quite get them to all go in the direction he wants. It doesn't prevent him from trying, though, and soon Jensen finds himself laughing and joining in the chase, swooping after the panicked herd until they thunder far enough away to be clear of their tormentors.
Jensen takes Beidai in a slow, lazy circle, scanning the air for Jared, trying not to worry when he realizes he's lost sight of him. He risks a glance over the banshee's neck, trying to see if Jared might not be below him, and that's when he catches sight of a huge shadow overtaking his own, right above. He twists in his seat, looks up in time to see the most enormous creature he's ever laid eyes on bearing down on him, talons outstretched, its wingspan blotting out the light of the sun.
The wind whips away the scream that tears itself from his throat, and he has just enough presence of mind to make Beidai bank sharply to the left, and the great bird's claws miss them by inches. There's a shriek of fury from below them, a great boom as leathery wings beat against the sky. He can hear Jared calling to him from far away, can only hope that he's far beyond the reach of this new threat, whatever it is, and urges Beidai forward as fast as she can manage. Luckily the banshee needs very little encouragement. He can feel the terrified hammering of her heart, adrenaline coursing through both of them, and she puts on a burst of speed the likes of which he never suspected her capable of, aiming for the nearest line of trees. He can hear the great bird rising back into the air behind him, preparing to give chase, knows that it's just a matter of time before it catches up. Speed is the only thing that will save them—even if he had his bow he suspects it would be next to useless against such a monster. Once among the trees, though, he'll have a chance at survival.
Beidai hurtles through the air, no longer chasing after wind currents, her frantic wing beats propelling them toward the forest. They reach the trees in the nick of time, the great bird pulling up short behind them and rising up above the treetops with another frustrated scream. Beidai keeps flying, weaving in and out of the tree trunks with reckless abandon, heedless of her own safety or her rider's, her mind almost blanked out with panic, until Jensen recovers himself enough to realize that it's partly his own terror that's making her act this way. He forces himself to send a calming impulse through the bond, orders her to slow down. Eventually she finds a perch in a large tree where they both come to a grinding halt and all but collapse, safe for the moment.
Jared finds them several minutes later, nestled in the branches of the tree, breathing hard. but otherwise unharmed. "Jensen!" he calls out, bringing Zeizei to a halt nearby and all but leaping from her back. "You are hurt?"
Jensen shakes his head. "No, no I'm fine. Just about pissed myself, but we're okay, both of us. What the hell was that thing?"
"It is Toruk."
It's only when they're back in the relative safety of Home Tree that Jared continues to explain about the Toruk. He takes Jensen through the great carved halls until they reach a room filled with what look like animal totems. At the far end, Jensen sees a bird-like skeleton that spans almost the entire wall, the skull a familiar-looking shape.
"This is Toruk," Jared says, and points to the wall, which is covered in what looks like the elaborate illustration of a story. There image of the bird-thing is unmistakable, even stylized like this. "Toruk is master of the sky."
"Last shadow?" Jensen tests his translation of the name, and Jared nods. "Makes sense. It's the last shadow you ever see before you die," he shudders. "So what's going on in here? Is it a hunt? Is that a guy on the Toruk's back?"
"That is Toruk Macto, the greatest of all the riders. It is the Na'vi way, to become rider with ikran. But when there is great trouble, then it is said that Toruk Macto always appears and unites all the tribes, to fight against the darkness.
"Rider of the last shadow?"
Jared nods. "My ancestor —father of my mother's father's father— was Toruk Macto."
Jensen feels his eyes widen, impressed in spite of himself, and Jared continues, encouraged by his silence.
"The stories speak of it. He tamed the great shadow and appeared before the tribes one by one, and they knelt before him and agreed to set aside their differences." He reaches out to grasp Jensen’s wrist, thumb pressing against the pulse-point in the way the Na’vi have when they’re imparting something vital. "The sorrows ended, they say, for a thousand years. They also say that when a thousand years pass and the Toruk comes again, it will be to change everything we know and all of history will begin anew."
Jensen can't think of anything to say to that that doesn't sound lame, but he does make a point of asking about the creature when he gets back to the lab that night.
"It's the Great Leonopteryx," Grace tells him, pulling up images from the video feed. "It's probably from the same family as the banshees, it has the same general physiology."
Jensen stares at the images, fascinated in spite of himself. Before all he had been aware of were the massive jaws and the great beating wings, but now that he has a chance to see the Toruk from a distance, as it were, he can begin to appreciate just how beautiful the creature really is. Grace is right —it looks a lot like a banshee, only about a million times larger. It's enormous, striped scarlet, yellow, and black along its back and wings, with a midnight blue crested head.
"It's beautiful," he repeats aloud, and Grace stares at him, obviously surprised.
"Don't tell me you have a poet's soul hiding in there, Marine."
"Bite me. What the hell is a leonopt...whatever."
"Don't strain yourself," she rejoins dryly. "What you're seeing here is the apex of the food chain."
"Baddest cat in the sky," Trudy's voice comes from behind them. She's leaning in the doorway, arms folded over her chest, one leg crossed over the other.
"You were lucky," Grace nods. "Not only is it really rare, but the sightings tend not to get reported."
Trudy saunters forward and makes a show of making an exaggerating clicking motion with her thumb. "What she means is there usually isn't time to key the mike before..." she draws her thumb across her throat.
"The people call it Toruk."
"Last shadow," Norm breaks in helpfully.
"I know that, thanks. I figure they call it that because it's the last one you'll ever see," Jensen finds himself staring at the image, not wanting to look and see the expression on Trudy's face.
"I saw one take out a gunship, once. BAM! Total freaking yard sale. It ate the crew like they were a pack of salted peanuts."
The aerial footage is still rolling, the Leonopteryx long since vanished, and Jensen spots a familiar-looking grove. "Hey, that's it! That's where Jared took me. The Vitraya Ramunong. "
Norm boggles. "You never told me you got to see the Well of Souls!"
"You didn't ask. I told Grace. What, you expect me to report to you too?" Jensen snaps, then subsides at a look from Grace.
"I just... it's their most sacred place. I never... they must really trust you," Norm breathes, eyes bright, his expression caught between admiration and envy. Jensen squirms.
"Right."
"I'd die to get in there and get some samples, but outsiders are strictly forbidden. I don't suppose you could ask Ìla'rey if they could make an exception?" Grace looks hopefully at Jensen.
"No idea. I can ask, but sometimes they get weird about that sort of thing."
"I can't ask for more than that. Maybe they'll let you take samples, if you ask nicely enough. I can show you how so you don't wreck them." Abruptly Grace punches the 'pause' button. "Okay, show and tell is over, kids. Norm, let's go, those works aren't going to translate themselves. Jensen, take a damn shower, and for God's sake eat something. You stand sideways and stick out your tongue people are going to mistake you for a zipper."
Jensen snorts. "Stand sideways. That's real funny."
"You know what I meant. Get something to eat or I'll have a feeding tube put in whether you want it or not."
He rolls his eyes, but there's no point in arguing with her about this. She and Norm disappear around the corner, leaving him staring at the paused image of the Vitraya Ramunong. Trudy hasn't moved from her position behind him.
"You know, this is exactly the kind of information the Colonel wants," she says quietly.
Jensen's already downloading the images and the coordinates on a chip. He doesn't know what he's going to do with it yet, but duty dictates he give it over to his commanding officer. It's what he's always done, although this is the first time he's ever really considered disobeying a direct order.
"If you don't give him something, he's going to shut all of this down," Trudy says. "Norm would probably pitch a fit if he knew I was telling you this, and Grace would pitch me out an airlock, but I know what your orders are. You, amigo, are between the proverbial rock and a hard place, and I don't envy you in the slightest."
Jensen stares at the memory chip in his palm. It looks tiny and fragile, nothing big enough to threaten everything that the Na'vi hold dear. All he has to do is hand it over to Quaritch and his work will be done. He'll be rotated back to earth, get the surgery, see his family again. He doesn't know if all the money he's earned in the past few years is enough to get them away from the contaminated ranch they were living on, but he thinks it might well be. They received all his danger pay as well as his regular pay, since he had literally nowhere to spend it, so the only thing left is to earn the money for his surgery. Quaritch has already promised is going to happen anyway, so there's no reason to stay here, not anymore. Except that Jensen has every reason to stay here.
"Grace and Norm, they're not going to tell you this," Trudy drops to a crouch in front of his wheelchair. "I get that you like the guy. I don't know him, but I've seen him a couple of times, I saw him when he came to see you when you got sick. I like you. I think he's probably okay too. But you can't be with him."
Jensen's head jerks up at that. "What? How do you―"
"I'm not stupid, and Norm has a big mouth," she grins, then sobers immediately. "Look, Grace, she's a romantic, even if she acts all tough. Norm likes the idea too, even if he's an ass sometimes. Me? I'm a realist. You can get all freaky with your alien guy out there, but he lives here and you don't. You being with him costs millions of dollars and takes all this," she gestures at the lab, "to keep up. You take a good look at yourself in the mirror tonight, amigo, and then you come back and tell me if you don't think this trying to live in two worlds isn't killing you."
With that she pushes herself to her feet and walks out the door to the lab, leaving him to stare at the data chip still cradled in his palms.
Part IVa