A New Mission: Ash to Fire

Disapproval

Miles was lying down in his village hut shirtless. He was looking up at the ceiling, his right knee bent, the very end of his tail curling side to side slowly at the end of his sleeping pad, his hands clasped at his waist. After having a Mansk-cooked meal last night with few words shared between them, which he honestly appreciated after all he went through, Miles went to bed—tail sore, face bruised, and the stitched wound on his head, as well as the shallow cut on his neck from Zek'arayo's blade both stinging.

This was the second morning Miles woke up to not having Zu by his side. He was hoping it was going to be the last.

After a lot of tension yesterday evening, Zu's parents had agreed to give their blood for their daughter, but to Miles' shock and surprise they, according to Ka'uwe, were insisting on going to Bridgehead to see her. Miles didn't think this was a good idea given what was essentially a war between the RDA and the Forest and Ocean Na'vi of the region as instigated by Jake Sully. However, Miles was desperate to just get Zu better and he wasn't going to disrespect her parents, his in-laws, after he already failed to protect Zu.

They would go with him back to Bridgehead as they desired. And he would keep them safe.

The shitty evening was improved by Mansk's food at least, Ash Na'vi cuisine being something he sorely missed since going back to Bridgehead. Though, he appreciated the mess hall food when he ate it with Zu, her cute innocent passion over everything she tried being so new and interesting to her radiating into him and his Marines. As Miles lay on his uncomfortable foam sleeping pad looking up at the rocking ceiling of this small hut, he found himself longing for another human thing. He wanted a bed. Not a sleeping pad. Not a cot. A bed. He sighed.

Miles leaned up to look at the light coming through his doorway and decided it was time to get up and out. He told Zu's parents they'd be leaving early and he wanted to commit to that. Miles rolled his sleeping pad up and left the hut with it, his tank slung over his shoulder. Mansk was already up, dressed and packed, sunglasses atop his head, and cooking breakfast. Damn, son was wasting no time taking in this food while he could.

"Morning, Colonel," Mansk greeted, looking back over his shoulder while stirring the metal pan with a wooden spoon.

"Morning, Chef," Miles replied with a smile.

Mansk smirked.

Miles placed his rolled-up sleeping pad next to Mansk's and took a seat on the log in front of the fire, diagonally left from Mansk. Mansk looked over at his Colonel's cut, being able to really see it in the morning light, and expressed an empathetic expression of pain on his face.

Miles caught this and asked, "That bad, huh?"

"Nah... just looks like it hurt."

"Well, I've had worse. Not gonna lie, son, the tail hurts a lot. Never had it hurt before."

Mansk noticed that Miles was working hard to not move it, save for its tufted tip and base, Ta'zem having slammed on the middle. He was keeping it stiff, which Mansk knew was hard to do, and he much more visibly winced at the thought of experiencing the same and flicked his own tail. Mansk also thought at that moment how funny it was that his Colonel called him and Lyle "son." They were all the same age, roughly twenty. In body at least. It was the mind where their previous existing ages came through.

Mansk just said, "Yeah, I can imagine. Na'vi equivalent of a low blow."

Miles snickered. Na'vi knew how to inflict many a low blow if his interaction with Mo'at was any indication.

Mansk then handed his Colonel a plate and took the pan of food to serve him, Miles saying, "Thank you, son."

After the two ate quietly for a bit, Miles then asked, "So what were you grinnin' at last night, Marine?"