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sunnybeewriting · 1 year

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peachy keen.

Hi guys! So I'm pretty new to writing and this is actually the biggest thing I’ve ever written. I watched The Way of Water when it came out and took an immediate interest in this guy, partially because I thought his character has a lot of potential, and partially because I also thought that he was really hot.

So I decided to set up a series of little works. This one is just sort of a beginning to the Reader’s character and Quaritch, and I do plan on writing more about them in the future with this fic as their base. Maybe do some AU’s, maybe just continue the story from here, maybe lead into the movie, who knows!

That all said, I really, really hope you like it! If you do, please give it a like or a comment!

WORDS: 15,000

WARNINGS: Adult themes and language

peachy keen. Part Two.

Jesus fucking Christ.

Your body jerks to a stop just before you can fully trip over your shoelace and faceplant onto the floor. Unfortunately, the leftover food on your plate could not say the same, jostled just enough that it went flying from your hands and onto the tiled floor of the mess hall.

You lean down quickly to clean it up, scooping the food with your fingers and back onto the plate as best you can. You succeed only halfway, goop just smearing across the floor and onto your hand.

You stare at the mess you made, ears and cheeks burning as you hear snickers of cruel amusement coming from some military meatheads a few feet behind you.

You jump up quickly, making sure to avoid your shoelace so you don’t trip on it again and embarrass yourself any further. You hurry to the counter holding the utensils, mugs, and paper towels, tugging several brown napkins out of the dispenser sitting on top. You take a deep breath to calm yourself.

Kneeling down so soon after sleeping for six years in a cyropod made the muscles in your legs and shoulders ache, but you do it anyways. You wipe up the mess as best you can, piling the dirty napkins onto the plate and dumping it all into a nearby trashcan. You wish the ground would swallow you up.

You aren’t usually so embarrassed by such a small mistake, but it had been a rough past couple of days for you. You had landed at Bridgehead City just a few days ago, and you had felt immediately overwhelmed by the extreme size of the fortress.

It took the RDA fifteen years to return to Pandora, but when they did, they made sure to put in roots. Bridgehead City was an enormous structure, constantly building upon itself and hosting thousands of military combatants, engineers, skel suits, construction robots, anything that was thought of to build and maintain humanity’s last stronghold. Every person of every imagined career was here, working as one like bees and ants had once done for their queens a hundred years ago, before they had both gone extinct.

Bridgehead was terrifying to look at for the first time, seeing in person exactly how far humanity was willing to go to force itself onto another planet. You had noticed that it almost looked like a parasite, contrasting in color and material against the lively, glowing rainforest that surrounded it just past the barren land of the Kill Zone.

The wave of information that hit you the moment you stepped off the ship was almost enough to make your excitement to be on Pandora wither and die, but you held onto it with shaky, desperate hands.

Luckily for you, it wasn’t long before your enthusiasm bounced back and you met your new colleagues. Most of them had been just as nervous as you, clearly uncertain and overwhelmed. Knowing you weren’t alone made you relax just slightly. They were scientists hand-picked by the RDA as test subjects for re-opening the Avatar program, just like you.

None of you were really sure why the program had been stopped in the first place. The RDA was very quiet about what had happened all those years ago, when most of their military and scientists had been sent fleeing from Pandora with nothing but the clothes on their backs and tails between their legs. They refused to issue many statements, insisting that a minor misunderstanding had occurred with the ‘natives’ of the planet, and they’d be back soon enough to continue their mission.

The RDA had stated that the main reason for discounting the Avatar program was because the cost outweighed any benefit. The only reason they were allowing a few lucky souls to come to Pandora as Avatars was simply as a favor to the scientific community, and as a test to see if the Avatar program should be reinstated. Now the main purpose behind the program is to see if it’s worth it for people to be able to travel around Pandora without having to worry about the environmental protection systems, than a way to make peace with the Na’vi.

Most of the scientists in the base were only allowed restricted access to information regarding the past and current situation with the Na’vi, only knowing that The People were no longer accepting of humans on their planet and that the military is now on constant high alert. Most of the remaining records were classified to you, although you did try to learn as much as you could about what was happening on Pandora. Unfortunately, the RDA was very strict with that information, and you never found anything that mentioned the Na’vi or what happened fifteen years ago.

The ten members of the new Avatar program had been divided into two parts of five, just to make the introductions and sessions easier. You had met your three new acquaintances, eager to make some friends. They had introduced themselves; Emma, a small, shy woman who preferred observing rather than participating; James, a sweet, handsome young man; and David, an older man in his late fifties who seemed a bit too haughty for his own good.

Your group was shown to your individual rooms over on the west side of Bridgehead, far away from the landing pads and ships you had arrived on. Your new room was small and gray with concrete walls and a thin layering of carpet covering the cold floors. You had a small desk that sat underneath a suction-locked window that let you glimpse into an enclosure full of construction robots, but at least the light it let in was nice. There was a simple cot in the corner and a mirror as the only piece of décor on the walls, but it was yours, a place you could call your own.

You had grinned tiredly and fallen face down on your bed without bothering to take off your shoes. You slept for fourteen hours, and when you awoke you felt as though you were rising from the dead, hair wild and mouth fuzzy. After you brushed your teeth, showered, got dressed in clean clothes, and ate food for the first time in six years, you felt like a brand-new person.

And here you are now, in the mess hall, already making a fool of yourself on your second week.

You quickly rush back to your table and plop your behind into the seat you had vacated to throw away your plate, sitting across from Emma and David. Emma is poking at her food, face pale and gloomy. David is almost done with his own dinner, glasses perched on his nose as he reads from a holotablet.

Geesh. These guys certainly weren’t known for being the life of the party back home.

Maybe they just need some more time to adjust? I know I certainly fucking do.

You take a moment to bend down and tie your shoelace, double knotting it, not wanting to cause any more scenes.

When you sit back up in your chair and make eye contact with Emma, your lopsided, embarrassed smile falls from your face when she simply stares back at you, clearly uneasy for some reason you can’t name.

“Jesus, you’re so fucking clumsy. And why the fuck does it look like you’re all attending a funeral over here?” The voice that chimes up behind you lifts your mood exponentially, and you turn around in your seat to greet the approaching form of the last member of your group and your best friend with a happy grin.

You had met Margot a few months before your trip to Pandora when you both attended a required conference that would discuss certain parts of living in Bridgehead. The second you struck up a conversation with her, it was like meeting your long-lost sister. You had instantly clicked, getting on like a house on fire and scarcely spending a day away from each other.

James arrives at the table with her, holding his own plate. He gives you a comforting look, clearly sympathetic to your embarrassment.

“Hey Margot, James! You saw that, huh?” you ask sheepishly, shoulders raising to your ears as you feel a hot flash of mortification all over again.

“Uh, yeah, honey, I saw. I’m pretty sure half the cafeteria watched you nearly eat shit. You need to learn to tie your shoes better, babe.” Margot’s voice is just as loud as ever, and her bright blonde hair and tall figure aren’t exactly subtle, either.

She was the type of person to grab someone’s attention and refuse to let it go, manicured nails digging in deep. Well, her nails used to be manicured. Now they were just as plain as everyone else’s.

She takes a seat in the empty chair next to you, setting her own plate down with a clatter. She untucks her cheap silverware from the napkin and digs into her dinner, eating hurriedly like someone is about to snatch the plate away from her. You had once asked her why she never slowed down to enjoy her food, and she said that with eight siblings if you wanted any food, you needed to eat it like an animal.

James takes the other empty seat next to you, patting your shoulder twice before saying, “It’s okay, I don’t think that many people saw.”

You smile weakly at his attempt to make you feel better. It doesn’t help much, but you appreciate the thought, “Thanks, James.”

He nods and moves his attention to his plate.

Your table is silent for a few moments, everyone lost in their own thoughts and tasks.

You break the silence when you nervously ask, “So. Anybody else freaking out at the thought of linking up for the first time or is it just me?”

David looks up, paying attention to your words for the first time since you met him. “Well, I’m not nervous because I did all the pre-linking sessions and training years ago.” His nose is practically raised in the air.

You stare at him.

What a fucking douchebag. Who answers a question like that?

“That’s nice. What about you, Emma, are you nervous or excited? How are you feeling?” you ask gingerly, wanting to include her in the conversation. It would be nice to have another friend so that the next few years weren’t miserable.

Emma stares at you blankly, and then whispers a simple, “No.”

You lean back in your seat and deflate. “Oh.”

Fuck it, I tried.

Margot, the smug bitch, is watching you drown in social awkwardness as she happily munches away. You give her a look and a shrug, and she rolls her eyes before placing her fork down on the table. She dabs the corner of her mouth with her napkin, and then says to Emma, “Girl, I absolutely love that bracelet you’re wearing. Where did you get it?”

To your surprise, Emma perks up in her seat, right hand grazing the bracelet she wore on her left wrist. Her face softens, and she says, “It was my mom’s, actually.”

“Oh, that’s so sweet. Right?” Margot jabs her sharp elbow into your side, and you hiss but nod hurriedly.

“Yes, that is so sweet! I wear my mom’s wedding ring, actually.” You rub said ring with your hand. Your mood drops a little bit at the mention of your mother, but you shake your head to get back on track. “Makes me feel closer to her, I suppose.”

A small smile pulls on Emma’s cheeks, and she looks down, still rubbing the bracelet. “Yeah.”

You look at her, reconsidering your thoughts about her personality.

Maybe it just takes a little time to connect, that’s all.

You fiddle with the small, emerald cut ring that you were on the ring finger of your right hand. It had been a piece of jewelry your mother had worn faithfully until the day she died.

When you were a child, around ten or eleven years old, you had asked her why your dad had chosen that specific ring to represent their marriage, out of the hundreds of others he could have.

She was still sick at the time, spending most of her days laying in a hospital bed while nurses bustled in and out. She had lost so much weight that her cheeks were gaunt, and her face and hands were so white they were almost transparent, pale blue veins clear through the skin.

Her lips were pale and chapped, and the dark circles around her eyes were deeply imprinted in her skin like bruises. She looked like a ghost, a fragile, terrifying imitation of the woman who had raised you, a woman who you had thought put the stars themselves into the sky. She was weak, and even before she passed away it was like she was already dead.

She had gripped your hand as tightly as she could when you had asked that question, sweaty palm squeezing yours to the point of pain in a rare show of strength. She was usually so weak the nurses and you had to feed her by hand as she could barely lift up her arms. She looked you in the eye and pulled you close until your face was right next to hers.

In the croak that had now become her voice, she whispered, “I had asked the same question, years after he had proposed. I asked, ‘Jonathon, why this ring? Why this cut, why this color?’. And he had gripped me tightly and pulled me close and said, ‘Well, my love, it’s the breathtaking green color of your eyes. Your eyes and the ring match exactly, you see. And every time you look at it, you will see yourself the way I see you. Beautiful and bright.’

Tears had filled her glazed eyes, and she whispered to you, “No matter what, when you find the one you love, never let them go. Cherish every single second you have with them, never take them for granted, and make sure that they love you for everything that you are, the good and the bad. It is the purpose of our life. Love. Without it, we are nothing.” Against the tears and the agony that claimed her face and voice, your mother smiled for the first time in years.

Your father had passed away while your mother was still pregnant, killed in an easily avoidable accident. No matter how much your mother loved you before she had gotten sick, no matter how much joy you brought to her life, there was always a deep sorrow and grief inside her that consumed her soul every day.

She never got over your father, never dated or remarried or showed the barest hint of interest in anyone else. When asked why, she said that she had already had the love of her life, and there was no one who could ever compare to even the lingering ghost of your father that seemed to haunt her.

And when the sickness truly hit and reduced her to almost nothing, her anger and bitterness twisted her mind and her love for you into something cruel and abhorrent.

Even years later you kept her whispered words locked away into the very muscles of your heart. Even though your mother had been sick and weak when she told you these things, it was one of your few beloved moments with her. It had shown you who your mother really was, past all the sickness and malice, who she really was deep in her soul. That she had once loved and been loved.

And now you wear her wedding ring as a reminder of your parent’s love for each other, and how regardless of your mother’s cruelty toward you during the last years of her life, your love for her would never fade.

You’re jerked out of your melancholy thoughts when Margot burps loudly and thumps a fist against her chest.

“Jesus Christ, Margot. Where the fuck did you learn your manners from?” James asks, recoiling in disgust.

“Sorry, sorry. I’m almost done, then we can go check out the linking center.”

You nod eagerly, so overwhelmed with anticipation and delight that your fingers tremor just slightly.

You are so ready to meet your Avatar and link up for the first time, but the thought of anything going wrong makes you restless. You wish you could just get it over with so you could stop agonizing over it.

Margot finally finishes her food and stands up to dump her plate. James does the same, and then all five of you are off, walking down a long hallway with lots of twists and turns. The fluorescent lights shine brightly on the ceiling, and you can hear the distant sounds of never-ending construction.

Even with all five of you working together to get to your destination, the new buildings are too much for your group and you get lost in the labyrinth of hallways. James even has to ask a nearby custodian for directions once or twice. When you turn a corner, you spot a bathroom sign, and suddenly you have business to take care of. You pat Margot’s arm and point in that direction.

��Hey, guys, I’m going to head to the bathroom real quick. I’ll meet you there, okay?”

The rest of the group nods, but Margot decides to go with you. You do your business and you’re washing your hands in the sink when Margot makes eye contact with you through the mirror as she washes her own hands.

“I won’t lie, honey, I’m feeling pretty nervous about linking up as well. I know we’ve been through training simulations and have studied and practiced for years, but this is going to be different.” Her face and voice are uncharacteristically serious, and her hands shake just slightly as she pulls a towel out of the dispenser to dry her hands.

You feel a flash of sympathy for your friend, stopping your own drying. You walk around to her and put your hands on her shoulders, leaning your face close to hers.

“It’ll be okay, Margot, we’ve both got this. We just need to do it, and then it’ll be as easy as breathing before we know it, okay?”

Margot nods and takes a deep breath, looking down for a moment. When she looks up she’s much calmer, and her usual peppy attitude is back and shining.

“Thanks, sugar.”

You nod understandingly, releasing her shoulders and knocking her hip with yours as you walk toward the bathroom door. You both step outside into the hallway and continue your way.

“Of course. And besides, I’m just so ready to finally see her, you know? We’ve seen pictures and videos, but actually being there in real life is going to feel so surreal. The Na’vi are just stunning to me. Ooh, I almost forgot!”

You stop walking as you talk, scientist-brain taking over. Margot moves to stand in front of you, crossing her arms over her chest with an amused expression. This was far from the first time you had gone on a tangent.

“I saw someone from the recombinant unit when I was walking around yesterday, and he was fucking huge!”

You’re so busy trying to organize your thought flow into something sensible that you completely miss the approaching footsteps coming from behind you, and the way Margot looks over your shoulder and turns white.

You continue on, oblivious.

“He must have been pretty high ranking because the people with him followed him around like little ducklings. And the blue pigment of his skin was so beautiful. The color contrast of his eyes versus his skin kind of reminded me of a Primula ‘Zebra Blue’, you know, that blue and golden flower that went extinct like a hundred years ago? It was just amazing to finally see in person, and I-”

“Well, aren’t you just a peach?”

The deep voice that comes from behind you nearly makes you jump out of your skin. You whirl around, expecting to come face to face with whomever just spoke. Instead, you come eye level with the belt buckle and zipper of a pair of navy green camo military pants.

Your heart drops to your shoes.

You tilt your head up, up, up, until it’s practically craning backward. The uncomfortable position hurts, but that’s the least of your problems.

Your biggest problem, literally and figuratively, is the cold eyes and carefully amused face of the man you were just talking about.

You open your mouth to speak but words refuse to leave.

Why does this shit always happen to me?

You clamp your mouth shut when no words appear and swallow nervously, and the man notices your tense expression.

He smirks down at you, almost sneering. From the way he towers over you closely, unconcerned with personal space, it’s clear that this man likes to have people’s attention on him, takes pleasure in scaring people with his massive height and muscles.

And his intimidation tactics completely work on you, that’s for sure.

Jesus, look at his hands. He could cover my entire face and upper torso with just one of them!

You want to put as much distance between this frightening man and yourself as possible. But there’s a little voice in the back of your head, a stupid, too-curious little voice, that want you to examine him all the way from the finger pads and palm lines of his hands to the tip of his tail.

He was terrifying, yes, but you are also stunned by the wonderful science and technology that made up his body.

Of course, you’d seen holographs and pictures of Avatars and the Na’vi people, but they could never hold a candle to the real thing.

The navy green tank top, tattoo, and dog tags were all familiar things, but his height and the bright, smooth blue color of his skin were brand-new to you, something you wanted to take a closer look at. His hair was shaved closer to his skull than any other you’d seen, Avatar and Na’vi alike.

His bright yellow eyes sear into yours, and it feels like he is trying to see into your fucking soul.

Your heart rate skyrockets, mortified and thrilled and fearful all at once. The pile of extreme emotions twists your stomach, making you queasy.

Do not fucking puke on his shoes.

The man takes a step back to make room for his massive arm before he lifts it up, clearly holding his hand between you for a handshake. It almost seems as though he is testing your nerve; you wonder how many people had chosen not to shake his hand, too frightened.

“The name’s Colonel Quaritch, pleasure to meet you. What’s your name.” It’s a demand more than a question.

You look up at his face again before quickly wiping your hands on your lab coat to get rid of any sweat. You grab onto his hand as best as you can with your own, and holy shit.

His hand engulfs your own minuscule one and part of your forearm, his fingers reaching almost all the way to your elbow. And the skin of his hand is surprisingly soft; he doesn’t have as many calluses as you thought a marine would, but that might be because his Avatar body is fairly new. You tell him your name, and say,

“Uh, sorry, sir! I’m a xenobotanist from the science division, I got here about two weeks ago!” Your voice is squeaky and louder than you want it to be, making you cringe. You barely remember to shake his hand as you speak other than simply hold it in your own.

He continues to stare at you, wicked smile only growing when you say you’re a scientist.

“Ah, you tree-huggers are officially back, then. Part of the ‘newly instated Avatar program’, right?”

“Uh, y-yes, sir. That’s us.” You laugh weakly.

He barely twitches the fingers of the hand still holding your own, but the strength that comes from them is enough to make his grip almost painful.

“Hmmm. Well, I’m real curious to see how long you and your friend last before Pandora eats you alive. Just as a friendly warnin’, you should be real careful about what you say and who you say it about ‘round here. Guess I’ll be seein’ you. Peach.”

Your knees weaken and you nod hurriedly.

He finally releases your hand, gives you one last cold, golden look, and continues on his way. His bare arm brushes your shoulder as he passes you, and it’s enough to make you shiver.

He’s gone in just a few seconds, but you stay rooted in your spot, staring at the floor. You’re wondering if he’s going to come back and shank you with the wicked knife you’d seen strapped to his thigh when a hand gently presses against your shoulder.

You leap into the air for the second time that day, hand slamming into your chest and breath coming out in a gasp as you realize it’s just Margot. You’d completely forgotten she was even there, too consumed with the encompassing presence of Colonel Quaritch.

You look at her, eyes wide and mouth gaping. Margot returns your stunned look, face paler than you’ve ever seen it before.

“Holy. Fucking. Shit. You have the worst luck out of anyone I’ve ever met in my entire life. What the fuck just happened?”

You gulp. “I’m pretty sure that a terrifying man who wouldn’t hesitate to gut me overheard me practically gushing about him?”

She nods. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”

You stand there, practically swaying on your feet. “Oh my god, he fucking hates me! Did you see the look on his face? Oh my god, why is this happening? I’m never going to able to leave my room again!”

You bury your face into your hands, suddenly exhausted. First the mess hall, now this? Why couldn’t you just not embarrass yourself for once?

Margot pats your shoulder as you groan. “There, there. It’s alright, all you have to do is avoid him for the rest of your life. If you don’t, I’m pretty sure the next time you see him he’ll either just ignore you or kill you for saying all that stuff about him, and then you won’t have to worry about it anymore!”

“But I didn’t even mean it in a bad way! I was just describing him, the same way I do with all unknown subjects.”

Margot winces. “Uh, yeah, I would definitely not tell him that.”

------

You feel like whining as you finally continue walking to the linking center. After all that, the excitement you had felt at meeting your Avatar had almost completely disappeared. Now, the only thing you wanted to do was crawl back to your room and hide underneath your blankets forever.

But Margot pulls on your hand and ignores your childish wishes. When you arrive, she practically has to push you into the room.

And then every single thing, all of your hard work, the training, the learning, even the awkwardness of that day, was suddenly all worth it when you saw her for the first time.

She was curled up in the tank, cords attached to her body and eyes moving behind her closed lids. She floated gently around in the liquid that surrounded her, sometimes twitching a limb as she slept on.

You approach the tank, mind blank and mouth dry. As you get closer, you can see the details of her face, your face, just shifted into the feline-like features of a Na’vi.

She stole the breath straight from your lungs.

And that was how you spent the next few weeks, gazing at her slash yourself. Eventually, the time came for the first linkup, and everything went well, just like you had told Margot.

You spent the next month linking into your Avatar and wandering around the facilities, checking your reflexes and consuming everything Pandora had to offer while still in the confined space of Bridgehead City.

The disorientation from linking was enough to make you lay in a cot for an half an hour each time, too dizzy to move much. It’s such a bizarre feeling, suddenly being so much taller than everything else, and you are so much stronger than you are as a human.

It took a long time to remember your strength, and you accidentally put dents into a metal door handle when you grabbed it, squeezing it much harder than you meant to. The tiny little humans helping you gave you a pretty wide berth after that, only approaching when necessary.

You practiced using your new body, walking around without sitting on your long-haired queue or stepping on your new tail, which flailed around with a mind of its own. You liked to press your tongue to your sharp canines and look at the swaying tendrils attached to your hair.

It was an exhausting, thrilling process, and you loved every second of it.

None of the new Avatars had yet to actually leave Bridgehead and go into the forest yet. It would probably take a few more weeks for that to happen, and even then, you would probably only be allowed into the tree line past the Kill Zone.

Still, you eagerly look forward to that day, barely able to contain yourself in your excitement. It’s all you can think of day and night, and even in your dreams. On that day, you would be accomplishing so much more than a lifelong goal.

Now, your group is relaxing in one of the lounges used for breaks, discussing your experience with linking and Pandora. It was something you’d been talking about for the past few hours, the past few weeks, really. It wasn’t like any of you had very much in common with each other, other than your careers and education, but you were trying to dig a little deeper to learn more about these people.

The only problem was they were more antisocial than not, which was almost to be expected by a bunch of scientists. They were also hesitant to speak much about their past. You were the same way. They probably wouldn’t be here if they had a very pleasant past filled with lots of people they wanted to stay with back home.

You eat the small bag of crackers you’d snagged from one of the vending machines lining the gray walls of the room, hoping that the tiny treat will hold you until your next meal. The chair you are leaning back in creaks dangerously and wobbles, but you hold your precarious position, feet pulled up and crossed on the table in front of you.

Your mind wanders as the chatter of the group drifts in and out of your ears. You think of nothing in particular, dazing out of focus, simply relaxing for once.

That peace is shattered when James leaps from his chair further down the table where he and Emma sit. They’re playing an old-fashioned card game; one you’ve never heard of before. When you asked James where he learned it from, he said his great-grandfather had taught it to him. Something called ‘Go Fish’.

James raises his arms above his head in apparent victory, grinning fiercely.

“That’s round three for me, Emma!”

Emma is giggling behind her hand, cheeks flushed a bright pink. She keeps her eyes on James as he playfully postures at winning, and the sight of her joy makes you grin.

You look across the table at Margot and wiggle your eyebrows. She laughs quietly, nodding in agreement.

Sweet Emma and James. You’re almost surprised that they developed such an obvious, big fat crush on each other out of all people, given that their personalities are so different.

Maybe opposites really do attract?

Whatever the reason may be, you hope your friends find happiness in one another. The world could certainly do with more love.

Margot scoffs in disgust and curls her lip at her empty plate, apparently already over the tooth-rotting sweetness that was Emma and James.

She throws down her silverware onto the table and leans back in her chair, pout firm on her face.

“The food here is ass! You’d think a multi-trillion-dollar company would be able to feed its employees with something other than more fucking oatmeal. I’m so damn tired of oatmeal! It’s been most of our meals for the past month!”

“The supply shipment is late, you know that.” Is all you say. There is nothing to gain from arguing with Margot when she gets into one of these hungry moods.

“Then they need to make it un-late and bring me my fucking muffins!”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure that ‘un-late’ isn’t even a word, but I do agree with you. Oatmeal reserves are getting pretty old.”

Margot nods vigorously, leaning forward and placing her hands on the table.

“Coup? Coup? Anybody interested?”

You throw back your head and laugh, “Margot, we’re not going throw a coup just because there aren’t any muffins! I thought you had saved a bunch of snacks the last time this happened?”

Margot deflates. “I ate them all already and the vending machines are out of my favorites!”

“Oh, Margot.”

“I know! Somebody just put me out of my misery.” She plants her face into her crossed arms on the table, moping.

“You know, you always complain about the food here, Margot, but that never seems to stop you from scarfing it down,” James says, putting himself into your conversation. He sits in his chair still, shuffling the deck of cards as he smirks at Margot.

“I have to eat it, it’s the only thing they have here!”

You open your mouth to say something, only to pause when a big blue hand reaches around the curve of the open doorway like something out of a horror movie. You sit there, gaping, as Colonel Quaritch crouches down through the opening and steps into the break room.

Margot, James, and Emma see your startled face and turn to see what you’re looking at. When they see Quaritch, they all lurch out of their seats to stand up straight. The cards Emma and James were playing with go flying all over the table and the ground, and Margot nearly knocks her plate off the table.

Quaritch straightens up and stands, several feet taller than any of you. He rests his hand on the holster of the belt wrapped around his trim waistline and practically cocks his hip as he looks directly at you.

You’re still sitting, cracker packet now crushed to a pulp in your right hand. When he looks at you, you finally jolt up to your feet. You dust off the cracker crumbs from your shirt as best you can, anxiety filling you.

“S-Sir!”

What the hell is he doing here!?

He saunters into the room until he’s standing by the table, just a few feet from you. You crane your head up to look at him, baffled and worried.

“Is there…anything you need, sir?” You can’t help the way your eyebrows scrunch up as you ask, clearly confused.

He stares down at you, head tilting to the side as if pondering something. Eventually, he speaks.

“Walk with me.”

And then he turns on his heel and ducks out of the room as quickly as he had entered. You stand, frozen, turning a bewildered stare to your group of friends. They stare back at you, just as perplexed, until Margot urges you to follow him with a push of her hand on your back.

You get your limbs to move and start walking after him, exiting the break room and finding him waiting. Once he sees you’re following after him, he continues walking down the hallway without a word.

The silence is almost uncomfortable as you walk several hallway lengths away from the lounge to some unknown destination. You’re almost tempted to break it to ask where the hell he’s taking you, but fear of his biting words keeps your mouth shut.

His legs are so long that his stride is practically jogging for you, and you have to speed walk so you don’t get left behind. He notices you struggling but doesn’t slow down one bit. In fact, the bastard smirks meanly at your frustration and funny walking pace.

You scowl at his amusement but refuse to say a word.

Finally, Quaritch stops in front of an enormous metal door, and he takes a key from his pocket and twists it into the lock on the doorknob. He opens it and walks in, and then gestures for you to do the same with an impatient wave of his hand.

You hurriedly scuttle in, freaking out even more. If he’s taking you to his office then he must have something serious to talk about, right? Was he going to punish you for what you said, was he going to yell at you, threaten you? You’re practically sweating, fingers twisting as your imagination goes wild.

You take a moment to break out of your thoughts and look around.

You pause.

You stand in the middle of the room, eyes locked onto one thing and one thing only: the large bed laying flush up against the corner of the space.

Who keeps a bed in their office? Is the first thing that comes to your mind. Confusion rushes through you and you look around the room, taking in the closet doors, the large desk tucked into the corner across the room parallel to the bed, the empty walls just as barren as your own room.

Your own room.

Ohmygod I’m in his room. Why would he bring me to his room!?

You whirl around, and Quaritch is standing so close to you that your face nearly smacks into his crotch.

You leap backward with a yelp and jump when Quaritch barks out a loud, unfriendly laugh and then sneers at you.

“I would’ve taken you to my office before, but it seems I don’t have one of those anymore. So, this’ll have to do.”

Confusion layered with frustration comes back to you, and your eyebrows furrow. “Do for what, sir?” You barely remember to tack on the ‘sir’ at the end of your sentence.

His face suddenly breaks out into a sharp-toothed grin, and he leans back, smug once more. You were really starting to get tired of that expression.

“I have a… proposition, for you.”

You barely refrain from turning a wide-eyed, horrified look at the bed.

Under any other circumstance, if a man had taken you to his bedroom and said he was propositioning you, you would be real worried. Red flags would pop up in your brain, mind demanding you flee fast.

But these aren’t normal circumstances, given that one of his arms alone is almost as big as your body. And you didn’t really get the impression that was something he was looking for right now, so you shake your head to get rid of any crude thoughts. You refuse to lower your guard, though, still uneasy.

“Uh, a proposition, sir?”

“Yes. You see, I’m under the firm belief that to destroy your enemies, you have to think like ‘em, be like ‘em. Kill like ‘em, eat like ‘em, shit like ‘em, that sorta thing.”

He takes a step closer and you take one back.

“And if I want to have even a snowball’s chance in hell of finding Jake Sully and the rest of the natives, I’m going to need to put myself in their shoes, metaphorically speaking. But most of the people here are military, marines, people with no knowledge of the Na’vi except how best to kill ‘em.”

“So. Who best to teach me how to be Na’vi other than one of the soft-hearted, limp-dicked scientists who just eats up Na’vi shit like it’s Mamma’s home-baked cookies?”

His yellow eyes burn into yours.

“One specific little scientist came to mind, you see, when I was thinkin’.”

You knew it was coming, but that doesn’t stop you from blanching. You shove a finger in your chest and point at yourself like an idiot.

“Me?”

Quaritch finally leans back, rolling his eyes.

“Yes, you.”

You sputter, mind going a thousand miles per hour.

“But-but, I’m not even an anthropologist, sir! I study foreign plant and-and animal life! Emma, she is the one in anthropology, you should talk to her!”

Quaritch scoffs.

“Emma Rodrigo can barely string a sentence together without pissin’ her pants, let alone teach me to do anythin’.” He crosses his arms over his chest, muscles bulging. His wicked teeth glint in the fluorescent lighting as he grins.

“Nah, I think it outta be you. Peach.”

Shit, shit, shit!

I was right, I should have just gone to my room and never come out.

“But-”

“You can say no, ‘course. This ain’t an order.” The look in his eyes says otherwise. If you decline, you’re sure you’ll either be cleaning toilets for the rest of your life or found dead with his knife in your gut. There is no going easy with this guy.

You gape at him, dumbstruck by the bizarre turn your day had taken. You had hoped you would never have to see this terrifying man ever again, fully prepared to cower and duck out of every room you saw him in. Now, he was asking you, of all people on this base, to teach him?

While this guy had the height and look of a Na’vi, he seemed to utterly despise everything about them. Was it even possible for him to learn anything about the Na’vi, their culture and their language, for it to really make a difference in whether he found them or not?

You weren’t even good at teaching! You were far better at learning and observing than educating people, and you had never been interested in changing that. Could you really teach this guy anything? Was he even capable of learning?

Your face hardens as you realize you’re faced with no other choice but to accept.

I guess we’ll see.

“You know, if you’re too chicken-shit to help me out, I could always get-”

“I’ll do it.” Your voice comes out firm, as confidently as you dared to speak to him.

“…oh?” He raises an eyebrow, looking surprised. And skeptical, the asshole.

You nod your head, letting out a breath you didn’t know you were holding. You are nervous, yes, but it had been decided. There was no going back now.

In for a penny, in for a pound.

“Yes. I’ll teach you everything you want to know about the Na’vi. But I-I also want something in return.”

His eyebrow raises higher.

You muster all the courage and audacity you can find in your body. Admittedly, there isn’t much, but you scrounge up enough to say the next few words aloud,

“In exchange for teaching you, I want you to teach me how to fight. I need to be able to protect myself when I’m out in the forest collecting samples, and I would ask one of my friends, but they can barely handle butter knives. And you are obviously…”

You eye him from top to bottom, eyes lingering on his massive arms before you can stop yourself.

“…capable.” You finish lamely, swallowing. You refuse to back down though, tilting your chin up and keeping eye contact.

Quaritch grins slowly.

“Well, little Peach, you certainly have bigger balls than I thought! It’s a deal-”

You hold your hand out for a handshake, palm open.

“To make it official.”

Quaritch glances down at your hand and then at your face, expression unreadable. And then, slowly, he reaches to grasp your hand and most of your arm once more. He pumps your entire arm down three times, eyes never leaving yours.

If you dared to think it, you might have thought he looked almost…impressed.

You clear your throat, face on fire. “So. When would work best for you, for our lessons?”

“…0500 every day for the next two months outta do it.”

Your eyes widen in horror, mouth dropping open all over again in protest. You barely keep yourself from grasping your chest in shock.

These military guys, did they never learn how to fucking sleep in!? That’s so damn early!

His sneering smirk returns to his face at your reaction, “Come on, Peach! Where’s your sense of adventure? You’ll tell me everything I need to know about the tree-fuckers, and I’ll teach you how to take a fist to the face, that sound good? About two hours each, four hours in total every single god-damn day. Good? Good.”

You sputter, hardly believing your ears. “Four hours every day? Don’t you have better things to do!?”

“Nope. My entire purpose for existing is to capture the traitor Jake Sully and end this war once and for all. With your help, I might actually be able to do that, which means that your time is now my time. Got it?”

You nod, queasy. It seems like all of your bravado from earlier had fled, leaving you with only the shakes and a bad feeling in your stomach.

“Yes, sir.”

“Good girl, Peach. Knew you had it in ya’!”

He claps your shoulder, and even through your shirt you can feel the warmth leaching off his hand and into your own skin.

The grin he wears makes you shiver, and you suddenly feel like prey that had just been caught by a predator, sharp teeth sinking into your neck and bleeding you dry.

He leads you to the door of his bedroom and practically tosses you out, done with you now that he had gotten what he wanted. He barely gives himself a chance to say, “See you bright an’ early tomorrow morning, Peach!” before he is slamming the door in your gawking face.

You stood outside his door for a few moments, simply processing. Eventually, you’re able to make your feet unstick from the floor and you wander back to the break room in a daze, mind clouded.

I can’t fucking believe that just happened. This is going to change my entire schedule for the next few months! Jesus Christ.

You practically stumble through the hallways toward your destination. Once you reach the door to the break room, you lean your arm against it and press your forehead into your arm. Your eyes close, and your heart jackhammers in your chest.

I don’t there’s anyone in my entire life who has ever made me as nervous as that guy. Holy shit.

You take deep breaths, trying to relax your muscles and get some air into your lungs. It takes a few moments, but eventually you’re able to get your heart rate down to a steady pump.

You lick your lips, suddenly parched.

When you lean up from your perch against the door and open your eyes, you can see the faint form of your face shining up from the metal of the door. Your pupils are blown, eyes still wide, and your cheeks are red.

He is seriously the scariest motherfucker I’ve ever met. And now I’m going to have to teach him things! I don’t know how I’m going to do it without passing out a few times, ohmygod. This is going to be miserable.

You swallow as best you can with a dry throat and shakily reach up to fix your messy hair, smoothing down flyaways. You straighten your shirt, crack your neck, and plaster a calm smile onto your face.

There’s no reason to let them know how terrified I am.

You open the door to the break room and step inside, ready to answer any questions they must surely have, and…

The room is empty.

You deflate, hand rubbing down your face and feeling embarrassed.

Of course they wouldn’t wait, we have a linking session in thirty minutes…that I am now late for. Fantastic.

------

You spend the rest of the day completely distracted, too worried about what might happen the next morning. It even took longer than usual for you to link into your Avatar, and when you were finally able to get outside, you had to answer to the swarm of nosy scientists you called your friends.

They were just concerned, you knew, but you didn’t like having to relive the entire stressful event down to the last detail. Still, you gave in and spilled, telling them about Quaritch’s ‘proposition’ (ha!) and leaving out the part where he had taken you to his bedroom.

They had all given you looks that ranged from horrified -Emma-, sympathetic -Margot and James-, and utterly uncaring -David-.

You start drinking from your water bottle franticly after you tell them everything, feeling anxious all over again.

“Well, maybe this won’t be such a bad thing,” Margot says, expression turning contemplative. All members of your group are sitting outside around a creaky wooden table in your Avatar forms, enjoying the fresh, sweet air and the bright light of Pandora as the rays warm your cyan skin. When you tilt your head back to let it shine on your face, it almost feels like home had been before the pollution clouded the sky.

Your hearing in this form is incredibly sensitive, and it hurts to hear the loud, never-ending beeping and rumbling of production taking place. It had taken you weeks to spend much time outside, and even then, you still sometimes have to put your hands over your big pointy ears when the sounds become too overwhelming.

Margot curls her large fingers underneath her chin and props her head up in her hand, “I mean, you’ll learn to protect yourself, so there’s that. Also, um…” She looks at the rest of the group mischievously, and they all get questioning looks on their faces.

She clears her throat and leans in closer to you. She puts a hand in front of her mouth, blocking it from the others, and whispers into your ear,

“I really, really wouldn’t mind getting to see how big his dick actually is and maybe you’ll get a chance.”

You choke on the water pouring into your mouth, spraying it all over the table you are sitting at. The liquid gets caught in your throat, causing you to cough painfully.

“Oh my god, Margot!” you screech, still coughing into your elbow and voice coming out scratchy. Your watery eyes glare at her over your arm.

Margot shrugs, “What, I was just saying what we were all thinking. He’s the biggest guy here, which has gotta mean something, right?” She wiggles her eyebrows and grins salaciously, and you bury your face into your arm.

“If he ever heard you saying anything like that, he would put his knife straight through your face without even hesitating!”

“I’ll let him put something else in my face if he wants.”

“Margot!”

It wasn’t like you hadn’t noticed that Colonel Miles Quaritch was a beautiful man. It would be impossible, really. Despite the sneer he always seemed to have on his face, the deep cyan of his skin, his wide, golden eyes, and his tall, broad frame were enough to make anybody swoon.

And his feline features weren’t the only thing that made him attractive. You could see his beauty in his long-fingered and broad hands, in his high cheekbones, in the curve of his lips even when they were curled up in disdain.

It wouldn’t surprise you to learn that a lot of people thought he was attractive just because of his attitude, either. Back home it seemed that everyone was interested in the cocky, proud, manly posturing that Quaritch seemed to like to do.

But despite how pretty he may be, he was also absolutely, shit-your-pants terrifying, and an asshole, which was enough for you to keep it in your pants. That, and the fact that he hated your guts.

“Trust me, Margot, I’ll be too busy trying not to piss him off again to see how big anything is.”

Great, now I’m thinking about his dick.

Margot rolls her eyes but leans back in her seat and drops the subject, “Your loss, then.”

James strikes up a new topic, just as embarrassed as you, and you slouch gratefully back into your seat, glad that the interrogation is over.

It’s nearing darkness by the time you all finish your linking sessions, and the group shuffles their way back into the sleeping center for the Avatars. You move over to your assigned bed, crawling under the soft sheets and sighing deeply.

You lightly traced your right-hand index finger over the smooth skin of your left arm, causing goosebumps to rise. It was still so strange, being able to actually feel with a body that was yours but not, having so many new features that you still have to adjust to even weeks later. Having a whole-ass tail, being several feet taller than any human alive, having super strength, hell, even being blue was still just totally fucking weird.

You lay back into the cot and attempt to clear your mind from any thoughts, but it was just as hard as it had been when you had linked earlier. After a few minutes, you are finally able to silence your mind and drift off just enough for the link to become secure and for you to wake up in the gel link bed, back in your human body.

By the time you walk to your room, you are bone-wary, almost stumbling on your feet. You dread the coming morning, and the only thing you want to do now is turn off your brain and rest. Your shoulders hurt from the stress of the day, and when you finally unlock your bedroom door, take off your clothes, shower, and brush your teeth, you’re practically hunched over.

You shuffle under the covers once again, and you’re unconscious before your head can fully settle onto the pillow.

------

Your eyes pop open, arms and legs flailing wildly in your sheets as you struggle to reach over to your alarm clock to silence its screaming. When you finally smack it, the crack of your hand connecting with its durable metal makes your palm sting angrily.

You let out a hoarse groan, cradling your hand to your chest as you flop down onto your bed. It had barely felt like you had gotten a wink of sleep last night, too busy thinking about your approaching morning with Quaritch. Scenarios ranging from you accidentally stabbing him to him purposefully stabbing you ran through your head, keeping you awake after only a few hours of rest.

Eventually, you stop your moping and reluctantly pull yourself out of your bed, eyes blearily glaring around your room.

It’s still a gray and sad little space, your room, but you had placed the small number of personal items you brought with you to Pandora throughout it. The one picture you had of your parents sits framed on your desk, along with your holotablet.

The few items of clothing and the two pairs of shoes you owned were put up in your closet haphazardly, and your hygienic amenities were scattered across the small bathroom connected to your room.

Your room and areas beyond it are all so generic and boring, which is why you spend most of your time either with your group or outside in your Avatar, being able to run around and feel. And once you were finally able to leave Bridgehead, your life would start, and it wouldn’t matter what your room looked like.

You tiredly get dressed and brush your teeth and your wild hair, putting it up into a simple ponytail to keep it out of your face. Once you’re suitable, you head out and lock the door behind you, placing the key in the right pocket of your jeans.

The hallways are quiet for once, and even the incessant roaring of construction has stopped. You walk down the softly lit hallways to the mess hall, unreasonably jealous of the people who get to sleep in their beds.

Most of the lights are off when you walk in, but to your surprise, there are a few people sitting down at a table already eating their breakfast.

Guess my assumption about the military was right, they really don’t know how to sleep in.

To your delight, there is a light amount of muffins and bagels laid out on a table nearby, but the most important thing was the coffee pot next to them.

Looks like the shipment finally came in. Margot is going to piss her pants.

You gladly snag two muffins with napkins and two small cups of coffee, heading right back out the door to the hallway with a friendly smile to the person walking in. They look blankly back at you, but you don’t mind as you stuff a chocolate chip muffin into your mouth as you walk.

You shuffle the remaining muffin and cups into your left hand and elbow crook, grasping the cold metal handle of the glass door that leads into the center with your right hand. You can see a head of black curls poke out from the side of a monitor, followed quickly by a scowl and a pair of eyes glaring blearily at you as you walk in.

You wince. “Morning, Tom. Thanks again for doing this, I really appreciate it.”

Tom had been the unlucky soul you had asked to help link you into your Avatar every morning for the foreseeable future. He had balked when you had asked, saying “Hell no!” before the words were fully out of your mouth. You had leveled him with your best begging look and offered to pay for six of the ridiculously expensive books you know he liked to read coming in on the next supply shipment.

He grouchily agreed to the deal but demanded you bring him breakfast every morning. You had accepted with a pleased smile.

Tom rolls his eyes and snatches the cup of coffee from your hand when you offer it. You’re about to warn him about how hot it was when he gulps half of it down. You watch, halfway impressed and halfway feeling the pain for him in your own throat.

“Let’s get started, then.” His voice is even more crackly than yours is this early.

You nod hurriedly and take one last sip of your coffee before you reluctantly set it down on the table. You walk over to the link bed and crawl in, and Tom pulls the cover down over you. You settle in, closing your eyes to clear your mind.

------

“There ya’ are, Peach! I was startin’ to think you’d chickened out on me.” Quaritch’s loud voice startles you out of your sleepy trance, and your head snaps up from where it is laying against the metal table you are sitting at.

The asshole looks as awake and lucid as usual, not a hint of tiredness on his face. He grins nastily when he sees your sleepy expression.

“We didn’t agree on a place to meet up, sir.” You are barely able to cover your yawn with a hand, and you stand with a grimace.

“That is true. From now on, we’ll do our lessons in Courtyard Six. Try to keep up.”

He turns and walks away, clearly expecting you to follow. You hurry to catch up with his long stride, but it’s much easier to do in this form. He’s almost ten feet tall, but your Avatar is eight and a half feet tall, and you are able to lengthen your stride to match his pace. Your shoulder width and muscles are still much smaller than his, but you imagined most were.

As you step in close to him, your nose twitches, and you realize something that almost makes you trip.

Quaritch smells really, really good.

You lean in closer to him and inhale discreetly, deeper than before, and, yep, that scent is definitely coming from him.

It is such a rich scent, a strange combination of rainwater, black coffee, and something smoky, like a campfire.

The smell is so strong that it feels like a physical mist floating its way through your nose and ears and into your head. Your mind goes fuzzy, as if suddenly stuffed with cotton. Your lips and fingertips tingle. And to your absolute horror, you can actually feel your mouth start to water.

It’s just such a lovely scent.

Do you think he’d be okay with it if I pressed my nose into his neck to smell him better-No!

You try to break out of the mist, shaking your head to get rid of the images of licking up his neck, tasting his skin, the way his head would tilt back and you would be able to feel his rumbling groan spread through his chest pressed up against your own and-

Stop it! Jesus Christ, don’t even think about it!

This is just a completely normal physical reaction, right? Maybe, but it wasn’t like this with the other guys!

In front of you, Quaritch’s footsteps stutter to a stop for a split second before resuming. It’s barely a pause, but it’s enough to make you snap out of your thoughts and look up at him. When you do, you notice the slight twitching of his own feline-like nose.

Is he smelling the same thing?

He turns his head around slightly to look at you, and you make eye contact with him just enough to notice his pupils are blown out, consuming most of his iris.

My eyes are probably no better, you think, before ducking your head to watch your feet as you walk.

Quaritch stares at you for a moment and then turns his attention back toward the path, and you do the same. You discreetly rub at your sensitive nose, trying to get his fantastic scent out of your head. A few moments after you do, Quaritch rubs at his own nose.

It doesn’t work, but by the time you reach the courtyard you’ve already gotten a little used to it. Thankfully you don’t feel as lightheaded anymore, but you have no idea if it is going to come back.

You notice that the sky has begun to lighten up as Quaritch unlocks the chain-link gate leading into the yard. Not that you really need any light, what with being able to see in the dark and all.

He stops once you enter and closes the gate behind you, and you can immediately tell why he had chosen this courtyard out of all the others. It was hidden behind a big wall of concrete that had no windows, so nobody could see you from inside the building, and it was positioned all the way in the back of the court section, meaning it was far more remote and private than the others.

Probably doesn’t want his tough guy image to be hurt when people saw him learning about the Na’vi and chatting with a little scientist, the prick.

The enclosure is a simple little area with a small basketball court, a tetherball pole, and a metal table. Nothing special, but it would be perfect for your lessons.

He turns around to meet your eyes, and you still have to tilt your head back to return his yellow gaze. The bioluminescent markings on his face glow brightly.

“You wanna go first, Peach?”

You swallow nervously but nod, “I’ll go first. I thought a lot about what our first lesson was going to be last night.”

You drop down onto the soft faux grass that covered the courtyard, legs crisscross applesauce in front of you as you avoid sitting on your flicking tail. You look up at him expectantly when he continues to stand.

Quaritch looks at the table sitting just a few feet away and shrugs. He plops down onto the grass hesitantly and crosses his legs in front of him the same as you. Now that he’s actually here, all the plans you made completely leave your brain, and you mind turns blank as you struggle to come up with something to say. You both sit there in silence for a few moments before he says,

“So are you actually going to say anything in this lesson or what? Usually I can’t get you quacks to shut the fuck up-”

“Sorry, sorry! I’m just trying to figure out where to start. Um…” Your brain flashes to what Quaritch had said when he started this whole thing, wanting to learn more about the way the Na’vi think, what’s important to them, how they work.

“Okay. Well, I guess the first place to start would be at the very beginning. Millions of years ago, when-”

Quaritch interrupts you with a loud groan, throwing his head back in exasperation, “I’m not askin’ for a history lesson here, Peach. Just tell me about them now, how they operate now, in this time, not millions of years ago! Jesus Christ, you pretentious assholes always have to drag things out-”

“Okay, alright, I’m sorry! Um, so the most important thing to know about the Na’vi is their connection to nature, their connection to Eywa. You’ve heard about Her, right?”

You continue to speak when Quaritch nods. “Right, well, She protects the balance of life here on Pandora, and the Na’vi love Eywa, the Great Mother. All things on Pandora are connected to each other through Eywa; you, me, plants, animals, you name it. Life and the forest are sacred to them because it bonds them to Eywa. They can actually speak to Her, and there are places like the Tree of Souls and the Tree of Voices that are sacred to them. They connect all the Na’vi to Eywa and to their ancestors, and they can actually hear the voices of past living people, isn’t that amazing? Are you with me so far?”

Quaritch nods again, surprisingly quiet. In fact, it’s probably the longest you’ve ever seen him be silent. His face is carefully blank, eyebrows furrowed with some unnamed emotion as he listens to you speak.

And that’s how the next two hours go, you talking and Quaritch listening with rapt attention. You had no idea if what you were talking about was anything Quaritch wanted to hear, but he didn’t interrupt you other than to ask a rare question.

About an hour in you stood up and stretched, bones popping and limbs aching from sitting on the ground for so long. Your ass was practically numb, and your left leg was stinging with pins and needles. You put your hands on your hips and looked down at Quaritch, who remained sitting on the grass.

For the first time ever, you were actually the one towering over him, and the thought made you grin as he looked up at you.

It seemed he could tell what you were thinking, because he scowled and pulled himself up on his feet, looming over you once more. He stretched his long arms above his head to get the blood flowing back in, groaning just like you had a moment ago.

You paused your own movement, gaze lingering on the way his strong muscles shifted underneath his pretty blue skin. They bunched up as his arms flexed, and your mouth turned dry.

Your eyes flickered over them for a few moments and then shifted to his face. Your stomach swooped low as you realized he had caught you looking, and you stared at him in mortification as his sneering, arrogant smile returned full force to his face. He looked so smug.

You had no idea your Avatar could even blush from embarrassment, but your cheeks burned all the same. You hurriedly turned your gaze away from him entirely, eyes squeezed shut.

He let out a low, unpleasant chuckle, clearly taking immense pleasure in your misery.

Asshole!

You stood for a few more minutes, back facing him as you pretended to examine the sky with incredible interest, waiting for your blush to fade and your stomach to settle. Eventually, you both sat on the grass once again, and you resumed your speech.

You talked about all things Na’vi related, from their connection to Eywa to what they wore, what they ate, their ceremonies, anything that popped into your head that you felt was important to mention.

In the grand scheme of things, you weren’t able to cover very much ground before your two hours were up and your lesson ended for the day.

By this time, Pandora’s light has returned from the eclipse, shining down brightly on both of you.

“So, how did I do?” you dare ask Quaritch.

“Well. Now I know what a Na’vi eats for breakfast, so. That’s something.”

You groan and bury your face in your hands, “I’m sorry, you said you wanted to know what they ate and everything! I promise we’ll eventually get into the more interesting and important things.”

Please don’t put me on toilet duty. I can do this!

Quaritch sighs, but says, “Don’t worry, Peach. We’ll get to the juicier parts someday. Learning to be one’s enemy is a long process, after all.”

He smacks his thighs, and the sound makes you jump, face moving away from your hands. Your nerves reignite in your stomach all over again as you realize it is now time for your lesson.

Why did I ever ask him to do this!? I should never have said anything, now I’m going to be Quaritch’s punching bag for the next few months! Idiot!

A sharp-toothed grin stretches over Quaritch’s face, and he leans in until he’s right in front of you, face close to yours. His yellow eyes bore into yours, and you can see your own terrified expression reflecting right back at you.

“Time for me to teach you, Peach.”

------

“Alright, Peach. You know how to handle a knife?”

You think about it and shake your head.

“…Okay. Do you know how to throw a punch?”

Again, you shake your head.

Quaritch curses and takes a step back, squeezing his eyes shut and rubbing the middle finger of his right hand between them as if praying for patience.

Both of you are standing in the middle of the small basket court, facing one another. You refuse to feel embarrassed by Quaritch’s reaction to your fighting skills, or lack thereof.

Not everyone can be a terrifying killing machine, asshole!

Quaritch seems to get the patience he was asking for, straightening up with a sigh.

“Back to the basics, then. Jesus.”

He steps up to you and places his warm, large hands on the bare skin of your shoulders. He shuffles you over closer to him, and you go willingly, body tense.

“First step in learning to defend yourself is to not be a pussy.”

Wow. Wonderful advice.

“You need to be firm in your stance and your attack, else your opponent will just be able to knock you off your feet before you can even land a hit. And if your limbs are loose, you’ll lose your balance and go flying just from your own force. Keep your core tight.”

He places a large hand firmly against the bare skin of your stomach and you suck in a surprised breath. His touch tingles through you in a way you’ve never felt before, and you look up at him with wide eyes.

He jerks his hand back and clears his throat. He walks around toward your back, and you can see the veins in his arm shift when his hand flexes by his side.

“When you throw a punch, you need to keep your wrist straight and fully extend your arm each time. Make sure you step like this,” he demonstrates, “and pull your arm like this.”

“Keep your thumb behind your index and middle fingers but out of your fist, don’t stick your pinky out, and you want to hit your opponent with these knuckles right here. Got it?”

You nod slowly, making a fist following his instructions with your right hand. He nods once and then moves in front of you. He lifts his hands in the air, palms facing outward.

“Hit me.”

Already? But I barely even- alright, you know what, I don’t even care anymore.

You shake out your arms self-consciously and try to position your body in the way he had shown you. You pull your arms up, hands folding into fists, stance widening, and you lash your arm out at him with all the strength you can muster.

Your right fist smacks against his open palm with a satisfying thwack, and you grin, tossing your arms above your head at your success.

“Your form was good, Peach, but your fist felt like getting hit with a bug. You need to work on your strength, build up your muscles and your core. Try again.”

You nod, arm flying out and hitting his palm once more.

“No, you need to keep your arm tucked in, not flying out like an idiot bird with a broken wing. Again.”

You hit his hands over and over for the next half an hour as he corrects your form and stance. As he said, you need to build your strength up in this new body, but this was a good start. He has to get in pretty close once again to show you how to move your body, but other than he seems to keep his distance.

You know, this isn’t so bad!

You hit him again a few more times before he nods, satisfied, and drops his arms.

“Now you know how to hit somebody hard, Peach. Always go for sensitive places, like the nose, groin, ears, eyes, kidney, wherever you can reach. Got it?”

You lower your own arms, panting. Reaching out to punch him hadn’t taken much movement from your arms, but doing it over and over again for half an hour made them ache terribly. You struggle to catch your breath.

It had been embarrassing, admittedly, the first few times. You had felt shy and scared all at once, unsure of yourself and uneager to be anywhere near Quaritch, let alone close enough to touch him.

Then you’d lost most of the fear the second time he had lightly smacked your cheek when he got through your defensively positioned arms. They were pretty much love taps, practically pats, but it had lit an angry fire in your stomach. Your uneasiness turned to determination to land at least one hit on him, and you forgot all about your trepidation and that this was Quaritch you were tussling with.

From the way he had grinned and curled his fingers in a ‘come-hither’ gesture, that was probably what he had been trying to do.

He also probably just liked hitting you, the dickbag.

Quaritch nods, and you fully expect him to end the lesson early for the day. What you weren’t expecting was for him to reach down and pull a massive knife from its sheath on his right thigh, bringing it up toward the light for examination.

You lean back quickly, ears flicking to the sides of your head in alarm. You had thought your punching lesson had seemed tame for him! It really wouldn’t surprise you if he decided you needed a lesson on keeping your guard up and lunged at you.

He won’t stab me, he won’t stab me, he won’t stab me, he won’t stab me-

“This here’s a bowie knife, seventeen inches of serrated steel strong enough to cut through bone.”

He waves it around carefully, smirking at your wide-eyed look of terror.

“And this…” he leans down to put the knife back in its sheath before pulling out something else from a different pocket on his right leg, “This is your knife.”

The little knife is comically small in his giant hand, more of a switchblade than anything else.

“That’ll be the knife you use for the next week at least, so don’t lose it.”

You pluck it from his hand gingerly, fingers folding around the base as you bring it up to your eyes for closer inspection. It looks bigger in your hand than it did in his, and you can see his initials, M.Q, engraved on its tiny metal handle.

Why the hell would a guy as big as Quaritch even need a knife this small? Does he use it as a toothpick?

Nonetheless, you’re glad he didn’t give you anything bigger to use for your first time. You weren’t sure you’d be able to handle it without stabbing yourself.

He shows you how to hold it, how to slash and stab, the proper way to stand and lunge with the little blade.

After another half an hour, he nods.

“Alright, now I want you to try me.” He says, pulling his arms up close to his chest and goading you on once again with a ‘come at me’ curled hand gesture, cocky smirk in place.

You balk. “You want me to charge at you with a knife already? We just got started!”

“Yep, sure did. What, you think you could actually touch me, let alone hurt me with that little thing? Ha!”

You wince. That’s a good point.

You do what he taught you to, adjusting your grip on the blade and positioning your body and feet into the dirt, tightening your core. You take a deep breath, strengthen your muscles, and then leap with a cry.

Quaritch shifts out of the way of your knife quicker than you had yet to see him move, simply stepping to the side with an unsurprised expression.

You go sailing past him, war cry turning panicked. You drop the knife and jerk up your arms to cover your face, turning away and squeezing your eyes shut.

Just as you start tilting toward the dirt, a hand grips the back of the collar of your shirt and pulls you upright before you can even realize you aren’t falling anymore. You remained positioned for impact, hands still in front of your face to cushion your fall even as you stand on your own two feet.

You open your eyes and blink, hands patting down your front as if to make sure no injury had been done to your person.

Quaritch lets go of your collar, knuckles brushing against the sensitive skin of your neck.

“That was fuckin’ pathetic! It was like a wet paper bag was throwin’ itself my way. And where the hell did you learn to cry out like that, ‘cause it was fuckin’ embarrassin’.”

You pay no attention to his harsh words, still stunned you hadn’t face-planted into the dirt for once.

You look up at him, starry-eyed.

“That was amazing, Quaritch! You moved so fast I could barely see you! Have you always been that quick or is it new? Could you teach me how to dodge like that?”

He stares down at you, ears flicking back against the sides of his head. An odd expression crosses his face, almost as though he was taken aback by your wonder.

He clears his throat awkwardly, turning to the side to avoid your strong eye contact.

“That doesn’t matter, not with that pathetic performance. You need ta’ be firm, like I said, and not throwin’ your weight ‘round like a pussy. Come on, do it again.”

You reach down into the dirt to pick up your little knife, and you lunge at him again. He dodges all the same, but you surprise the both of you when you don’t stop, turning around and slashing in his direction.

Of course, the blade doesn’t even touch him, but it’s the thought that counts.

He grins at you, “There you go, Peach! Way to show some initiative, I’ll make a fine soldier out of you yet. Let’s go again, come on.”

And that’s how you end your morning, trying to stab Colonel Miles Quaritch with a knife the size of one of his fingers. You’d have never thought this was where you would be when you met him all those weeks ago, but hey, if learning from him would one day save your life, you’d do it gladly.

By the time two hours have passed, you’re sweating and panting for breath, hands on your knees. Your body was still new, and you hadn’t been in it long enough for you to get past light jogging and reflex training. Honestly, the fact that you were able to do all that moving without collapsing was a god-damn miracle.

You were so much faster in this form, so much more flexible and stronger. Still, that held no comparison to the trained, experienced combat vet you were practically playing with. Because that’s what this would be called, not fighting or even training. It was like playing tag or a slapping game, cause that’s all that happened for the entire lesson.

Quaritch, the fucker, doesn’t have a drop of sweat on him. His chest rose and fell evenly, and he rested one of his hands on the gun holster he had wrapped around his hips.

“You good, Peach? Not going to puke, are ‘ya?” You’d be flattered by his concern for your well-being if it weren’t for the mean, amused tone layering his voice when he spoke.

You stay bent over for a few more moments as you struggle to catch your breath. Eventually, you’re able to rise fully upright. You answer his question, even though you know it was rhetorical,

“I-I’m good, I think.”

Just as you finish your sentence, your stomach growls angrily, as though enraged at being denied sustenance.

Ugh.

If you weren’t exhausted and beyond caring about what Quaritch thought of you, with your floppy, sweaty form and shitty punches, you would have been embarrassed. Now, though, the only thing you do is pout. Now, you were just a little pissed and tired at getting your ass thoroughly kicked for two hours.

“I’m hungry, can we be finished for the day?”

Quaritch rolls his eyes, unimpressed, but relents.

“Yeah, Peach, we’re done. Let’s get goin’.”

You grin, relieved, and your energy returns just slightly at the thought of lunch. You bound to his side, and he leads the way out of the courtyard and into the space beyond.

The day is in full swing, scientists, soldiers, robots, and trucks all bustling around Bridgehead as you follow Quaritch close on his heels to the mess hall.

You pass by all the tiny little humans, most of whom don’t even spare either of you a glance. Either because they were used to seeing ten-foot-tall Avatars walking around or because they were too busy to give a shit. Probably both, really.

You both have to duck as you walk through the doorway, Quaritch much more than you. You walk over to the table where you had snagged the muffins for breakfast earlier that morning, grabbing three of the sandwiches that were there now instead.

Quaritch grabs six of them, piling them all onto his plate.

You’ve just started scarfing yours down when a large hand whips out across your back, slamming into you. You inhale instinctively and start choking on your food, struggling to breathe. You turn around, fully ready to smash your sandwiches into the face of whichever fucker did that when you see Quaritch’s walking away, waving the spare hand not holding his food up behind him.

“See you ‘round, Peach.”

Oh. Well, at least he said goodbye.

You drink from the water bottle you’d snagged from the mass hall and eat your sandwiches as you walk to the showering station for Avatars. You stay under the pounding warm water longer than you probably should, enjoying the way it soothes the ache in your tense arms and shoulders.

After you’re done washing away the sweat and grime, you head back to the Avatar resting area, ready to be in your own body.

It had taken you a while to learn how to hold onto the brain link connecting your bodies; the first few weeks were the worst when you were learning to hold it longer and longer. Sometimes it would break, and you would slam back into your human body with a gasp, disoriented and head pounding.

Now, though, you were much better at holding onto the link for longer periods, even if it still gave you a headache.

You settle back into the pillows, closing your eyes and letting your mind go blank.

------

When you wake up in your human body, it always feels stuffy, not right, like you’re being squeezed into a tube. Your mouth is always cottony, too, and even though your body was simply laying down like you were asleep, your bones always ache when you get up as if you’ve been doing jumping jacks for however long you were in there.

You step out of the link bed, stretching your arms above your head and groaning. Tom is no longer in the linking center, but you didn’t expect him to be when there were others milling about who could watch over you.

You stand up and wobble a little bit, dizzy. Once it passes and you’re sure you can walk without smacking into anything, you make your way back toward your room, fully intent on sleeping for the rest of the afternoon before the conference in the evening.

Just as you leave the linking center, Margot runs into you, hair wild and eyes a little bit crazy. She grabs onto your shoulders, shaking you back and forth lightly. You let her do whatever she wants, beyond caring.

“How did it go? Did he yell at you, did he flirt any? Ooh, did he smack your ass-? Hey!”

You shake her hands off, walking past her with a roll of your eyes.

“Jesus Christ Margot, you really need to get laid.”

She groans, following after you with quick steps, waving her arms around as she says, “I know! There’s just no one I’ve seen that I’m interested in, so I have to live through you and your sexy romance with Colonel Quaritch-”

You halt, turning around to grab her shoulders. You’re the one shaking her back and forth this time.

“Listen, Margot, there is nothing going on with Quaritch and me at all, nothing sexy, nothing flirty! We literally just met like two days ago, and he’s hated me ever since! Now stop saying stuff like that, or he’s going to overhear us, again, and kill us both. Okay? Okay.”

Margot whines, “Oh, but maybe there could be! If you were just a little less uptight and he was a little less homicidal, you guys could totally get together. I mean, you can’t deny that he might be interested, right? I totally saw the way he was looking at you yesterday!”

“Yeah, he was looking at me like he wanted to wrap his hands around my throat.”

“Kinky.”

“No, Margot, not kinky! More like murderous! You’re starting to sound crazy, Margot, you’ve gotta do something before you start humping anything that moves.”

Margot blushes, finally feeling some sort of shame, and she nods, “Yeah, you’re right, I’m sorry. I’m just so pent-up, honey. Ugh! Okay, I’m going to try to relax somewhere, get outta my head for a little bit. I’ll see you tonight, okay?”

You pat her shoulder and say, “See you then, Margot.”

She gives you one last smile before she’s off, bounding down the hallway. You shake your head in fond exasperation, now even more tired than before, and walk back to your room. You adored Margot, loved her, but sometimes her exuberance made your head pound.

You unlock your door, kick off your shoes, and toss yourself onto the unmade sheets of your bed. One last thought floats through your mind just before you drift off to sleep.

Maybe mornings with Quaritch won’t be as bad as I thought.

peachy keen. Part Two

#avatar: the way of water #avatar the way of water #avatar 2 #avatar imagine #miles quaritch #miles quaritch x reader #miles quaritch imagine #my writing #avatar #avatar fanfiction #the way of water #cross posted on ao3 #peachy keen #colonel quaritch #colonel miles quaritch #avatar miles quaritch #na'vi quaritch #na'vi quaritch x reader

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