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Avatar: Rainbow

Chapter 7: Purple

In his dreams, Jake flew.

Not in a Samson. Or a Dragon. Or even the strato-transport that had brought him home. No. He himself, soared through the sky

The jungle was below. Endless. Stretching from one horizon to the next. There was no sound. No birds, no wind, nothing. Just the jungle. The mysterious land that he flew over.

"Jake?"

A voice called to him, but he ignored it. He stretched out his arms, letting the dream be his wings. He stretched out his legs, carrying him forward, preventing reality's intrusion.

"Jake?"

The voice came again, but he continued to fly. Faster and faster, closer to the trees. So close he could smell them. The type of smell that came from soil after rain.

"Jake, are you awake?"

And the voice continued. But he continued to fly. Then…

…the smell changed. He smelt something different. Blood.

He tried to scream, but couldn't. He tried to fly higher, but the dream wouldn't let him. He soared faster and faster, closer and closer. And then…then he felt it. And did scream, as something tore through him. From his stomach to his spine.

And he fell. Shouting. Screaming. Towards the jungle floor. To the soil that smelt of blood. To the bodies that lay there, some staring downwards, some upwards. Some he could see the faces of. Some he recognised.

He hit the ground. He struggled to get free as the mud drew him downwards. As the bodies came to life, grasping him. Begging him to set them free as well. He struggled. He fought. He screamed.

And then he woke up.

October 26, 2145

West Roxbury Campus, Veteran Affairs Healthcare System

Boston

"Gah!"

Jake shot upwards in his bed, sweating despite the room's climate control system. All he was wearing was a hospital gown, complimenting the bandages that wrapped their way around his waistline. If not for that, and the pain he felt in the upper part of his body to compliment the lack of any feeling that came from below, he might have found it enjoyable to be awake. And to see Nurse Andrea Ivanov looking down at him, wearing the smile that a nurse gave every patient. The type of smile Jake had seen back in Camp Bianco when he'd suffered from heatstroke. The type of smile that meant nothing.

"Bad dreams?" she asked, still smiling as she cleared his breakfast tray of the water and algae that had sufficed as food.

Jake murmured something non-committal as he closed his eyes, rubbing his nose.

"If you want to see Doctor-"

"No," Jake said quickly, opening his eyes again and trying to smile as well. "They're just…dreams, okay?"

"Right," she said, clearly not convinced. "Well, if there's anything you need…a book…the grounds outside the campus are nice, if you want help with a wheelchair-"

"No," Jake repeated, just as quickly. He picked up a remote that was on his bedside table, waving it casually. "TV's got me covered."

The TV was a flatscreen that hung down from above. It was his sole companion besides Nurse Ivanov, and Doctor Hasrat, who'd been teaching him about using a wheelchair. So when not with either of them, Jake would watch what was happening. Or sleep. More and more, he'd gone towards the second option. Because his dreams, as horrible as they were sometimes, as often as he woke up sweating and screaming, were still an escape from reality. In his dreams, he could walk. Or fly.

"Right," Ivanov said, still smiling, preventing any cracks in it. "Well, like I said, if you need anything…"

She trailed off, and Jake let her. He didn't even bother to try and smile himself. Because right now, he was nothing. A nobody in a hospital that he'd be discharged from within a week. And like a nobody, as soon as Ivanov moved to her next patient, he flicked on the TV. A news channel.

It showed jets flying over a desert. Which desert, he couldn't tell, there was so much desert on the planet one would be lucky to find anything else. Pressing the mute button, he leant back in his bed and watched the spectacle unfold for a few moments before reading the news ticker down below.

Peace talks between Zulian Liberation Front and Venezuelan government break down – landslide in China leaves hundreds dead – cloned Humpback whales returned to ocean after decades of extinction…

He let the images play out, idly discussing whether to change the channel. Wondering whether he should get used to this. TV and sleep. The rest of his life. Plus other amenities such as food, drink…sex, if he got lucky.

Interplanetary Commerce Commission under investigation for monopolistic practices in asteroid belt – Matanza Arms Corporation reporting ninth consecutive year of growth, as arms supply to southeast Asia proliferates – preparations for G30 summit draw protest while –

Jake closed his eyes. There was something common in the news nowadays, he reflected. Actually, scratch that, there'd been something common for as long as he could remember. More and more taking up reading was looking like the preferred option. Or heck, videogames. He still had Nieto's Orca after all. He'd played through every game on it though, and couldn't bring himself to download any more. And the way he played them…Fran had commented on that…before she'd died…

"Didn't think you were one for watching the news Jake."

He kept his eyes closed. He recognised the voice. And because he recognised it, he didn't want to give the owner of that voice the satisfaction of knowing that he recognised it.

"Jake? You awake?"

Awake. I'm always being asked if I'm awake.

"Yeah," he murmured, opening his eyes slowly. "I'm awake."

He met the gaze of his visitor. Without looking, he flicked the TV off. Even with the sound off, he didn't want the distraction. But he did want to play this out right. So he waited a few minutes before speaking. Before greeting the newcomer.

"Hello Tom."

"Hold on Jake. Hold on."

Lights flashed across Jake's eyes. He could tell he was being moved. That he was indoors. But that was all. At some point, someone had given him…something. Something that had made him drowsy. He couldn't even form the term in his mind, let alone give voice to it.

"Alright everyone, clear a path."

There was a 'thump' sound. The lights were replaced by something brighter. Lights were all around…no, they weren't light. They were walls. White walls, with people clad in white, looking over him.

"Wher…where…"

"Hold still," said one of the people in white. He…or she, he couldn't tell, looked over at one of the other he's or she's. "Is this right? I mean-"

"Just get the bullet out."

" …" Jake struggled to form words. He tried to lift an arm, but could barely move it. He tried to move his legs, and nothing happened.

"But the spine? Can't we-"

"Spine's gone," said the second voice. "Get the bullet out, and patch him up. That's all we can do right now."

Jake tried to get up. But he felt a hand on his chest, pressing him down. One of the people in white was standing over him. Shining like an angel. Ready to send him to Hell.

"Lie down soldier."

"Jacob…Sully…" he whispered, as one of the people in white came over. "Corporal. JS…zero-six…thr…thr…"

Something was placed over his mouth. The lights began to fade.

"Thr…thr…"

And then he was out.

"So they removed the bullet?"

"Yeah," Jake murmured. "It passed through my right side and shattered the lower part of my spine, lodging itself in the process." He hit his legs as hard as he could, feeling nothing. Only regret. Resent. To those who shot him, as well as Tom himself. "Sniper was a bastard, but he was a good shot. They identified the type as a-"

"But the spine," his brother interrupted. "Can't they fix it?"

"Oh sure," Jake said snidely. "If I have the money." He clapped his hands together, smiling. "Vet benefits, bro. I'm officially an ex-marine, free to spend the rest of my life getting fucked in a very different manner."

"Jake-"

"But of course, you know what that's like don't you?" the ex-marine continued, finally returning his gaze to his brother, standing awkwardly at his bedside. "I mean, we haven't spoken for eight months. You were quite happy rubbing eggs together while I was dying in the bush."

"Jake, I couldn't-"

"Why are you here Tom?" Jake snapped. "No, seriously, why? You can't be arsed to send a single message for eight months, yet you manage to travel across the country to gloat?" He spat at him. "Well, congratulations. You win."

"You stopped sending messages too Jake," Tom said. "I sent a message to you, one that you never replied to."

"Don't bullshit me," Jake snapped, reflecting on what Fran had told him. That she was right. Fighting back the tears as he remembered her, as her last moments flashed before his eyes. That here and now, he could only be angry at Tom, because being angry helped. "And you haven't said why you're here."

"I'm here because you're my brother Jake," Tom said. He drew up a seat and sat down in it, right beside Jake. "Last eight months have been hell, I have to be back at Stanford tomorrow for a practical. I'm sorry I couldn't-"

"Don't," Jake whispered, turning over on his side, his legs awkwardly dangling in place further down the bed. "Don't you dare talk to me about hell."

"Jake, I…" Tom sighed. "You're right. I'm sorry. I just…didn't think it would come to this, y'know? I mean…" He sighed. "Jesus Christ Jake."

Jake glanced at his brother. And for the first time in eight months, the first time since he'd entered the ward, come up to his bed, and drawn the curtains around it, really looked at him.

It was the suit that really got to him. Black blazer, white shirt, navy tie. It was like the uniform he'd worn on Family Day at Parris Island, over a year ago. Yet slightly smaller - Tom had lost weight. His hair had grown longer as well. It was like Parris Island all over again, but as if much more than a year had passed since their last meeting.

"They paying you well?" Jake murmured. "The RDA?"

"It's an internship," Tom murmured.

"You didn't answer my question."

"Like I said, it's an internship," Tom said. "They pay for the college fees, and nothing else. So in addition to working my arse off to even stand a chance of qualifying for a place in the Avatar Program, I'm spending every weekend shovelling fries and algae burgers."

"Sounds terrible."

"Yeah, it is," said Tom. "I mean, seven day weeks are-"

"No, I mean, an algae burger," Jake said. "I mean, I know hardly anyone can afford meat, but, seriously? Algae burger?"

Tom looked at him. Slowly, but surely, he began to smile. Slowly, but surely, he began to laugh. And just as slowly, and slightly less surely, Jake did likewise.

Laughter. He couldn't remember the last time he laughed. It felt…wonderful. So wonderful that he began to cry. He let the tears come, letting his Adam's apple wobble. He felt his entire upper body shake. While as always, felt nothing from the lower part. But it was the upper part, as Tom hugged him, that mattered.

"You're my brother Jake," Tom said, patting him on the back. "I'm here for you."

"Tom…thanks," Jake said, closing his eyes, slowing, but not stopping the flow of tears. "Thank you."

"Jacob Sully…thank you for your service…Purple Heart enclosed…blah blah blah…" He looked up at Captain Redwood, waving the letter that had arrived on his beside in the morning. "Is this a joke? Is this a fucking joke?"

"Watch your tongue Corporal."

"Purple Heart enclosed," he said, drawing out the small medallion. "Is that it? Shipped back stateside? Paralysed for life because some sniper got lucky?"

"What do you want from me Sully?" the captain asked, putting his hands in his pockets as he stood in front of Jake's bed. Part of the ward reserved for wounded soldiers at Camp Liborio. "We're sending you to West Roxbury for rehabilitation." He smiled. "The Corps takes care of its own. The benefits scheme will support you and-"

"Oh, right," Jake said. "Vet benefits. Can't be arsed to fit my spine can you? After all-"

Redwood slammed his palm against the wall Jake's bed was pushed up against. He leant down. His face like a sour cat.

"Listen to me you little shit," he hissed. "You're not special. You're lucky to even be alive, which is more than I can say for Francine Kwalu, Harry Rogers, Lewis Bergman, and Stuart Negeri. Not to mention every other dead man and woman whose names I have the burden of remembering. If you think we have time to give every wounded sod a medal with pomp and circumstance, to spend millions on nano-tech to rebuild bones, then you've got another thing coming."

Jake remained silent for a moment, before asking, "and is that what you think?"

"No," said Redwood, his gaze softening. "But that's the reality Corporal."

Reality. Closing his eyes, Jake was reminded of a reality he'd been given fifteen months ago. Those welcoming words on Parris Island. Of passing through a portal, of the truths it had spoken, and the lies it hadn't. Serving one's country. "If it ain't raining, we ain't training."

It had never said anything about losing his friends, whether it be to suicide, departure, or the enemy. It had never said anything about the enemy himself, whom he both hated and pitied. It had never mentioned the prospect of spending the rest of his life in a wheelchair.

"Get some rest Sully," said Redwood, patting him on the shoulder before turning to leave. "Strato-transport leaves tomorrow. We're flying you home."

Jake nodded, closing his fist around the Purple Heart. Its cool, polished surface at odds with his rough, calloused hand. Of the blood that pounded in his ears.

"Oh, and by the way," Redwood said, glancing back at his subordinate. "Sergeant Torregrosa sends her regards. She's been assigned a new squad."

Jake remained silent, Redwood's words lingering in his mind as the captain walked off. But not those specific ones. Rather it was the names. How easily he had remembered them. And the names he had to swear to never forget.

Francine Kwalu. Paul Challow. Trinh Tan Hung. Harry Rogers. Lewis Bergman. Stuart Negeri. Even Felipe Nieto. Those who he had fought beside. And nearly died beside. And those he did not know who had died beside him. Even the enemy. Because even now, Jake couldn't hate them. He had, as Redwood might have put it, "no shits left to give."

He laid back in the bed.

As if dead already.

"So what about Nieto? Or this Lieutenant Mori? Can they help?"

"Pitch in to fix the spine? I've barely talked to Nieto in months, and I've no idea how to contact Mori." Jake sighed. "Face it Tom. Charity only goes so far."

It was dusk, the autumn light seeping in through the ward, illuminating the crisp white walls. Tom had taken off his blazer, tie, and loosened the buttons at the top of his shirt. Most of the day had been spent talking about anything other than what Jake had done, or what Tom was doing. Watching sport. Playing on their Orcas, joking that Tom was into isometric shooters out of all things (a quick distraction from study, as he'd put it). Watching football. Skimming through news before it got too depressing. Heck, even the cartoons were a welcome relief. Even teenagers, it felt good to be like children again. Tom had even showed Jake some of his textbooks, all of them on Pandora's fauna and flora. Almost all of it had gone over Jake's head, but the pictures were still nice to look at.

But the sun was setting. Tom would have to leave soon. Catch a mag-lev that would take him over 3000 miles over a period of a few hours. Powered by the unobtanium that he'd be off to help extract if he managed to get to Pandora. Because while Tom protested that that wasn't the reason, even he'd conceded that if not for the rock that powered so much of Earth (that allowed humanity to keep up its exploitation of the planet, as Tom had put it), there'd be no way of getting to the moon. It was an admission that Jake had admired. That in the day, both the RDA and USMC were willing to use the same words and platitudes to get people to work for them. To try and ignore their true missions – mine, and shoot.

"So what's the timetable?" Jake asked. "I mean, let's say you don't fail, that you get in, and get a job that doesn't involve algae burgers. What then?"

"Assuming everything goes to plan?" Tom asked. "Well, I've got two more years. Unless there's any delays, I ship out in forty-eight. Relativity aside, that means six year journey to Alpha Centauri. Five years minimum time on the moon."

Jake did the math. Even if Tom left Pandora at the earliest opportunity, that would mean that after 2148, he'd see him in 2164 at the earliest. Sixteen years bar whatever messages they sent. And even those messages were usually transmitted at light speed.

"Jake," Tom said, "let me help you. The money…God I hate to say this, but the money is good. Great, even. I sure as hell won't need it on Pandora, and if it could fix your spine-"

"Tom, I don't need charity. I-"

"Jake," Tom said, "I'm your brother. Let me do this."

Let him do this, Jake reflected. He couldn't remember Tom ever asking him for permission. Oh, he'd asked their parents, sure. Tom had always been the one to believe that it was easier to ask for permission, whereas Jake went down the road of forgiveness.

"Tom," Jake said, "you don't need my approval. I…" Ah, screw it. He held out a hand. "Thanks, bro. I mean…thanks."

Tom took it. "Sure Jake. Anytime." He sighed. "Or, well, quite a bit of time, but…well, hey, we'll get you through this, alright? You'll be back on your feet in no time."

Back on his feet. He wanted it, Jake realized. Tom wanted it, he wanted it, fate seemed to want it. He wanted to walk again. And right now, he couldn't think of anything, or anyone that would stop him from seizing that goal.

The last hour of Tom's visit went far quicker than Jake had anticipated. Most of it was spent laughing along with Aaron Palmer's impressions of various celebrities, as displayed on the flatscreen. But the show ended. The visit ended. With a handshake and some jabbing, Tom was forced to leave. It was Parris Island all over again. Only Tom would return to what had become his life. And Jake…He tried to smile as Tom said hie final goodbyes. Now he had two weeks of therapy, and the rest of his life to look forward to. Hell of another kind.

And an hour later, Jake was left with dinner. Algae, and water that came from the campus's water tank.

It didn't taste too bad actually.

But bitterness of another kind lay in his mouth. Because lying there, as images kept flying into his head, as he saw the faces of his friends and enemies, he was reminded of something Hung had once told him.

"Looking back, school will probably be the best years of your life."

And he was right, Jake reflected, as he saw Hung's death repeat itself in his mind. And Fran's death. Even Challow's death. School, as opposed to war, and a life of being cripple, had been the best years of his life.

Because back then…he had been able to actually live.

It was the thought that stayed with him right until lights out. When he went to sleep.

Hoping that the nightmares would be minimal.

In his dreams, Jake flew.

Not in a Samson. Or a Dragon. Or even the strato-transport that had brought him home. No. He himself, soared through the sky

The jungle was below. Endless. Stretching from one horizon to the next. There was no sound. No birds, no wind, nothing. Just the jungle. The mysterious land that he flew over.

There was no voice this time. And the jungle was different. The trees larger. Different from those found on Earth. And the mist. The sound of drums. He was on Pandora. All the images taken from the ones Tom had shown him. In his dreams, he was not on Earth.

He was free.

He stretched out his arms, letting the dream be his wings. He stretched out his legs, carrying him forward, preventing reality's intrusion. An intrusion that was never made.

He continued to fly. Onwards, ever onwards. For all eternity. He waved his arms. Even moved his legs. He was free. There was no pain. No conflict. The jungle stretched ever onwards. He knew not how long he soared.

"Jake?"

And the voice arrived. His own voice.

"Why are you here Jake?"

He kept flying. The jungle started to fade from his view.

"Why did you fight Jake?"

He closed his eyes. Eyes closed in reality, eyes closed in here. Willing himself to go deeper. To enter a dream within a dream.

"Why did you kill Jake?"

But the dream was pushing him out. And reality was drawing him in. To where pain existed. Where he couldn't fly.

"Why Jake?"

Reality grabbed him. He kept his eyes closed, as his tears remained within the dream.

"Why?"

And he saw them. His friends. Hung, smiling. Challow, scowling. Fran, silent. Nieto, pale. His parents, as they had appeared before being cremated. The faces of his enemies. Whispering "freedom."

I didn't want this.

The pain in his chest returned, his breathing shallow. Pain. There was no escape from it. Pain and war, they would never end. The confrontation of the lies he had been told. And the lies he had uttered to himself. To become a warrior for hardship. To pass any test. To fight for the right side, in a world where right and wrong no longer existed.

"Why?"

The waking world, the dying planet that was Earth, beckoned. Where there was no jungle. No life. No freedom of this kind.

"Why?"

And he answered.

"I was a warrior who thought he could bring peace."

He began to wake. He could feel his back. And nothing below it. Reality beckoned, as did truth.

"But in the end…you always have to wake up."

The End

A/N

I rewatched the into of Avatar to get the 'feel' for this chapter. Kinda stating the obvious, but if the imagery of Pandoran rainforest at the start is meant to be taken literally, then it makes me wonder how Jake saw it - granted, that footage is probably available on Earth. It made me consider namedropping some characters (e.g. Norm), since there's nothing to say that Jake didn't know the names of the people he meets at Hell's Gate, even if he doesn't react as such. But anyway, decided to drop that. But I decided to go with the idea that he's actually seeing the jungle prior to waking up.

So, anyway, that's that done. Thanks to those who reviewed. Don't have any other Avatar stories on my 'to write' list right now. Current writing focus is on a Firefly story titled Seven Deadly Sins. Similar principle to this actually - seven chapters, each being thematically tied to one of the seven cardinal sins. Go figure.