Jake doesn't know how much longer he can tolerate his eldest daughter's face. He really doesn't.

Neteyam looks like Neytiri. He has her heart, her responsibility, but he also has Tsu'tey's talent. Oftentimes, Jake sees his late friend in his eldest son. The pain isn't bad. Neteyam brings him those bittersweet memories of flying beside his brother in a battle Tsu'tey would never see the end of. Neteyam is his boy, his pride, his first of kin.

Kiri isn't anything like himself or Neytiri. She's like a clone of Grace, though Jake didn't know her in her teenage years. Kiri is witty and sarcastic, bold and an old soul. She's got this way with the animals of Pandora, from the little insects on the ground to the wild ikran. Kiri reminds Jake of the times he spent with Grace in the floating mountains, back when he still drove his avatar and learned the ways of the Na'vi.

Lo'ak, despite his taste for rebellion, is the wild child. Jake would never say the boy was a black sheep out loud, but he was. His other children were all obedient, while Lo'ak couldn't listen to directions for the life of him. No matter how easy something was, like staying at home without leaving, the boy just couldn't follow. Jake likes to think Lo'ak is just an amplified version of himself as a teenager.

Tuk is a rule follower and a father's girl. She is honest and loyal, always telling the truth and reporting everything back to her parents. Jake sometimes can't believe someone like Tuk came from him and Neytiri. She was significantly younger than her siblings and their age gaps, and she kept her childlike innocence. Only time could tell what Tuk would become as she got older, but Neytiri always says her youngest daughter will stay the same.

And then there was Sersei. Jake always thought of Sersei last. It wasn't because he loved her less—no, Jake thought he might love her the most. But thinking of Sersei for longer than just a slight moment brought him great pain. Thinking of his other kids got him smiling, memories of fun family times playing through his mind. Thinking about Sersei brought Jake back to his life on Earth; specifically, the day he saw Tommy's face for the last time before he was burned and cremated.

Sersei was, if Jake had to put it into words, hopeful. Too hopeful. She liked to believe in the good of people—the benefit of the doubt. Jake remembers once when Neytiri got pissed beyond usual when Spider was hanging out with Kiri, Sersei came to her mother and calmed her down with words. The girl persuaded her mother to calm down, to believe in the good of the human boy.

Jake remembers Tommy's little freckles. They were faint and tiny, even when they were boys. Once, when the two got a hold of a pen, they connected the dots of his most prominent ones. In a weird coincidence, they made the shape of a star.

If it's dark enough, Jake could see the placement of his brother's freckles on Sersei's face in the form of her white dots. Their glow was brighter than the other bioluminescent dots littered across her face and body.

In Sersei, he saw kindness and patience, as well as honor and loyalty. Sersei was a hunter alongside her brothers, a warrior who fought to protect peace. She holds her home in a very special place in her heart. To Sersei, the forest is her life—where she was born and where she will die. Nature is all she has ever known.

As Olo'eyktan and as a father, his choice is between protecting the people, his people, and his family.
Jake's heart breaks more to know the pain he will put on his daughter with his final decision.

—

Suddenly, the air she thrived on began to choke her. The walk—or stumble—back to her own secluded hut never felt so suffocating. As Sersei glanced around, eyes wide in some form of anxiety, her mouth dried as her throat closed up.

Had people always stared? Did they not have their own matters to attend to? Were they always so nosy?

Sersei's ears were permanently perked up, sticking out from her head as they swiveled in any direction she heard noise. Her fingers danced by her sides. Her breaths were short, barely grasping any oxygen to keep her mind clear.

Her hand pulled back the tarp cover over her sanctuary, slamming against the wooden support beam with a smack. Faintly, against the pounding of her head and the increased lightheaded feeling, she could hear her name being called. The voice sounded light years away from her, like it came from where the Sky People belonged.

They shouldn't be here, Sersei thought. They should be back on their mother planet that they killed.

Again, that voice called her name. Over and over, they persisted, wearing out the word until it sounded like mush. Either that, or she was surely losing herself.

Sersei, Sersei, Sersei, Sersei, Sersei, Sersei, Ser—

A dull ache came from the small of her back, ceasing her thoughts and drawing her attention to the pain. Carefully, Sersei's eyes flickered to the mirror in the corner of her hut. For a moment, she couldn't pull her eyes away from the reflection of her face.

She looked hideous. Above all, frightened. Her bottom lip was bitten raw, toned with a dark purple hue and the faintest hint of a vibrant red blood against the blue of her body. Her eyes looked as if they were glued open, freakishly wide with dilated pupils.

Slowly, she turned her body in sync with her gaze following down her body to her lower back. Sersei's heart pounded heavily, gasping in shock at the sight. Touching her fingers gently to the injury, she sucked a breath through her teeth at the harsh sting.

A shaky exhale left her mouth. For a moment, Sersei believed she could calm herself—that she could keep her composure and slow her heart rate. For a moment, she truly thought she had the power to control her emotions, to control herself; however, her soul would never—could never—be contained.

Sersei couldn't help the sobs that bubbled up her throat, the choking feeling of remembering the gun held to her back. For Sersei, it was like any moment, the soldier holding her queue could have sliced it off or shot her straight in the head. The worst part was she wouldn't even realize it until she was already dead.

With her free hand, she clamped it over her mouth to mute the heavy sobs racking her body. With a pause, she released her hand from her mouth, attempting to breathe slower and combat the shallowness of her breaths.

Too fast, is all Sersei can think with the lack of oxygen flow to her brain. Spots danced in her vision. She could feel her knees about to buckle under the pressure, thoughts too inconceivable to understand properly. Slow down.

"Stop," she whispered to herself and repeated it again. "Stop,"

But she couldn't. Her body wasn't listening to her mind. Everything blurred as her eyes flickered around, tripping over her feet and swiveling her head far too fast to avoid whiplash.

Sersei, the voice was not her own. It was far too deep to be hers. Breathe, Sersei, it told her. For a moment, the girl hallucinated a hand settling on her shoulder and a warm embrace. Tears pricked her eyes as she shook her head.

"I can't," she breathed out aloud, the rasp of her voice shocking herself. Her head continued to shake as she denied his words. "I can't, I can't!"

Just breathe, Sersei, calm down.

"No!" She gulped and yelled louder, one trembling hand hovering near her mouth with the other just above her heart. The pain she felt was almost physical, the ache worse than the tender bruise on her back. "No, I can't! I can't!" Her wails grew louder, bile filling her mouth as she choked back the dry heave threatening to spill out.

The tarp over the entrance of her small hut was pulled back, revealing her worried father. Just as his face came into view, Sersei keeled over and retched toward the ground, attempting to swallow the urge to vomit down her throat.

"Serse!" Jake breathed out, using his nickname for her and rushing toward his eldest daughter. His hands rested on both her shoulders, shaking her body lightly as her head lulled to the side before lifting up. "Serse, are you okay?"

No, she wanted to tell him. No, I almost died and put my younger siblings in the same position even though I was the oldest in the situation and it's my fault they were hostages too. I should have turned us around the moment I noticed something was off. I almost got us killed and it's all my fault and I can't explain what's happening to me right now and everything just feels like too much–

"Sersei," he took one of her hands into his own and squeezed gently. "Sersei, listen to my voice."

She shook her head again, keeping her eyes trained on the floor. "I can't,"

Jake furrowed his brows. "Yes, you can." He assured his daughter. "Everything is gonna be okay, Sersei, I promise, just look at me."

Sersei was scared at what she might find in her pressuring father's eyes. Would there be anger in his disappointment? Would he scold her until his voice grows hoarse because he cares so much? Slowly, her gaze flickered up, finding everything she could before she had to see the look in his eyes.

What she found was different from what she had expected.

He held a worry behind his smaller, more human-like eyes. He was visibly shaken in a different way than his daughter—while she was scared, he was concerned. "I'm right here, Serse, I'm right here. Just listen to my voice," he comforted her, rubbing his hands soothingly over her upper arms. "It's just us, babygirl."

Jake was quite familiar with the aftermath of a traumatic event. He was most acquainted with soldiers he would fight alongside—both human and Na'vi. His entire life, he had been fighting and going through battle after battle.

After losing his legs in his human body, he often woke up to cold sweats and an inclined heart rate, remembering the moment he practically lost his entire life. He was a paralyzed soldier—and a soldier with a handicap on Earth is a nobody.

Every morning after getting his consciousness transferred to his Na'vi body, the first thing he would do is wiggle his toes and shuffle his legs to remind himself he wasn't a soldier on Earth anymore—he was Jake Sully, Olo'ekytan of the Omaticaya on Pandora, father of five children whom he shared with the love of his life.

Few times, he would wake up the same way he did all those years ago. He would feel his rapid heartbeat in his ears as his shaking hands would fly down to feel his legs. When he didn't find them to be bony and useless after years of muscle atrophy, he would finally calm down.

However, the earliest recollection Jake had of anxiety attacks were the ones he saw in his brother. Tommy, at just the ripe age of 12, was diagnosed with social anxiety with no apparent cause. It was only natural for an introvert like the boy to fear social interaction.

Jake still remembers, after all those years, how he used to comfort his twin brother during his anxiety attacks.

"Serse, you just gotta listen to my voice, okay?" He ran his thumb over her knuckles. "Breathe," he told her.

"I can't," Sersei whimpered, not bothering to wipe her new tears away as her voice cracked. She continued to gasp for air at every breath. Her eyes twitched around, hallucinating the tall blue soldiers in their camo green with guns steady in their hands. She could still see the way their fingers hovered over the triggers as they pointed their weapons at her siblings.

"Sersei, listen to me," Jake demanded, one of his hands lifting up to cup the side of her face. His stern eyes softened, the crease between his brows fading out the more he held their position. "You don't need to be scared anymore, the soldiers- the RDA, are gone," he declared, "they ran off back to their base—I'm here now, Serse, just look at me, that's all that matters."

And soon, Jake observed the slight shift in his daughter's demeanor. Slowly, her breathing steadied, eyes boring into her father's identical ones. His gaze brought solace, alleviating her greatest concerns instantly.

Sersei's wide and glossy eyes began to blink rapidly, washing away any more of her tears and bringing her senses back. The realization slapped her in the face as she stood still for a moment. She ripped her hands from his grip and hastily wiped the wet tears under her eyes and cheeks. "I- I'm sorry, I don't know-"

The man shook his head. "It's okay, Serse." Jake pulled her into a tight hug. "Your father's here." By the way he was squeezing her, arms locked around her neck with his head perched on her shoulder, his concern was obvious. "I'm not mad, Sersei, it's okay,"

"I'm sorry I- I couldn't stop them-" she choked. "I put them in danger and I-"

Jake shushed her gingerly and only squeezed her tighter. "I'm not mad," he whispered as tears pricked his eyes. "You're safe and that's all that matters, that's all I care about, okay?"

She nodded blindly.

As Jake held his eldest daughter in his arms, he couldn't find the strength in him to let go. Just for one more second—one moment out of millions in his life—he could pretend he was a little boy hugging Tommy after one of his panic attacks. He could pretend he was the weak boy he once was with his arms wrapped around his older brother in one of the only situations where he felt like he was actually doing something good.

Like he had a purpose.

Jake shook the thought away as soon as it came. Of course he had a purpose—he was a father and the Olo'eyktan of the Omaticaya. He was leading the rebellion against the Sky People, of course he had a purpose. He was sacrificing his life to protect Pandora from the wrath of mankind—if that wasn't enough, Jake didn't know what was.

When Sersei pulled back and gazed up at her father, tears still smeared around her eyes, the resemblance was uncanny. Though she was blue with a differing facial structure, the vulnerability in her eyes and the way her brows were drawn down—as if she were upset at herself for losing control of her emotions—was exactly like a certain dead man.

Jake opened his mouth to speak again, but quickly stopped himself. The words in his throat were ones he hadn't uttered in years. He hadn't dared to say his name since the incident happened, only reciting it in his mind. Tommy, he wanted to say. He wanted to shout it out, to call for the twin brother he dearly adored, loved since they grew up together, to pull him from the afterlife just to talk to him once more.

"Dad?" Sersei had to ask, brows furrowed at the way his eyes were tense in thought. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," he lied, "I'm okay." He shifted uncomfortably under her questioning gaze and cleared his throat, shaking off his previous thoughts. His only genuine concern was for his daughter, not himself. She was always first. "But you," his brows furrowed, "are you okay? Are you hurt?"

Sersei tried to dismiss his curiosity, shaking her head softly to avoid a bigger headache. "No, Dad, I'm fine, I-"

Before she could pry his hands off her, Jake already began craning his head around and caught sight of the blotchy bruise. His eyes went wide as he examined her back, her skin rubbed raw and the flesh underneath distinctly swollen. A shiver ran down his spine. "Jesus Christ, Sersei, what the hell is that-?!"

And suddenly, her words were in her throat. Her gaze flickered back over to the mirror, catching a perfect view of the injury once more. How could she explain it? How could she tell him how painful it felt to see—to be reminded of the loaded gun in the hands of a trigger happy moron pointed right at her?

There was no explanation, not in words, of how Sersei felt when she was reminded of those soldiers with a simple glimpse at her own body.

"Is it from those goddamn soldiers? Did Quaritch do this to you?!" Jake began to yell loudly, the tense look in his eyes coming back just after fading away. Just as she opened her mouth—lips parted with the right words stuck in her throat—a loud boom of thunder shook the cave system of the floating mountains.

Jake acted on instinct. He pulled Sersei by the arms and seized her into his embrace, looking up and through the entrance of her tent in a state of familiar anxiety. For a moment, he believed it was the Sky People—that they found the hidden camp of the Omaticaya and planned to destroy it.

Just like Hometree.

"Dad-" Sersei tried to escape his grip with a frown. "Dad, it was just thunder-"

"No." He interrupted, hands squeezing her shoulders so tight, she thought she would have bruises the next day. Jake held the tremble of his hands back, doing anything to avoid showing the girl his fear. As a father, he couldn't be afraid—he needed to be strong. "Sersei, this is too dangerous to stay. They will know where we are. We leave tomorrow morning."

He left before Sersei could say another word with a scowl on his face, disregarding his eldest daughter who hugged her arms close to her body and silently stifled her cries.

hey guys, it's been a while since i've updated since i've been focusing more on my other book "final girl" but i wrote this like a month ago and never found a way to end it so it was just sitting here, but i finally got around to leaving it off on a small cliffhanger and i'll be working on the next chapter soon! 

—rory