untitled (for now) spider soccoro x !gn reader

ONE

I was in the room behind the two-way mirror, filled with screens and other doctors in bright white lab coats. They thought I'd be better with him because I was his age. I was skeptical.

He dressed like the Na'vi. His hair was like theirs, and he had stripes and markings like them (although they were obviously painted on) and he spoke their language. Yet, he was still human. His skin was not blue, besides the paint. He was tall, but he was still human. It didn't matter to me. Humans could be just as dangerous as the Na'vi, let alone one raised by them.

I look at Colonel Quaritch. It was his idea to bring the boy back, to try and get information on Jake Sully. He could be doing this himself, I thought, but I could see he was wary of the boy.

I looked at him again. "I'll do it, sir," I say.

He smiles. "That's great." His voice sounds slightly mocking, like he's talking to a baby. I can't believe I'm doing just what he wants.

I walk into the interrogation room, which is really a cell if I'm being honest. I'm carrying my bag of medical equipment. The other medics are busy helping those injured in the ambushes or recovering bodies. They originally needed me just for that, but then someone had the bright idea for me to attempt to extract information from him.

Quaritch was fond of this kid for some reason; that meant nothing to me. It made me warier of him as the door slid closed behind me, locking me in.

He was facing the wall, hugging his knees to his chest. His chin was resting on his arm as he moved to look in the opposite direction as I approached him.

I sighed. This was not going to be easy.

"I'm just here to clean you up," I said. "I don't want to be here either." I dropped my bag down on the table next to him, ignoring him as he flinched at the sudden sound. He muttered something in Na'vi, probably an insult.

I looked over at him again. He was all cut up, with scrapes and bruises forming, and dried blood crusted on his legs and arms, covering the painted blue stripes on his arms and chest. Along his spine, a long gash crusted in blood was stretched in a way that just had to be painful for him. With the way he was sitting, I couldn't see anything else. He was still looking the opposite way, his eyebrows furrowed and eyes squinting. Trying as hard as he could to ignore everything going on around him. A cut on his forehead was still dripping blood down his brow, and it was smeared where he had wiped it away previously. His nose was dripping blood down his lip. Right. He had fallen down a ridge in the forest, in enemy territory. He looked miserable.

"I'm going to need your arm," I said. His elbow was covered in mud and encrusted with dried blood.

He finally turned, eyes narrowed, and looked me up and down, analyzing if I was a threat or not.

Spine still hunched and bleeding and one arm still wrapped around his legs, he held his other arm out carelessly, palm up. He rolled his eyes and looked the other way. He looked dejectedly at the wall again.

With my gloves already on, I pulled out a cotton pad and a canteen filled with purified water and wet the cotton. Blowing air through my lips, I held his forearm and cleaned away the dirt and blood.

I could feel his pulse through his wrist, not exactly fast but now slow either. It certainly didn't feel like a normal resting heart rate. It must be his nerves, I thought. It was understandable to be stressed when you're literally being held captive.

Once all the grime was cleared away, I started keeping away infection and covering the wounds. Since the wounds were small and spread apart, I decided to use Annisto ointment (think the healing spray/potion thing from Pokémon or something idk it disinfects and speeds up the healing process), a prototype of a new medicine. I wasn't sure how the doctors would feel about me using it on a captive, but they gave it to me for testing, and testing it was what I was doing.

"This is going to sting," I sighed. The boy said nothing. I bit my tongue in annoyance and continued.

"I know you speak English. I heard you earlier."

At that, he pulled his arm away from me and back to himself, sitting normally, stretching his legs so they were hanging off the edge of the table and he was leaning on his hands.

He let out a huff. I rolled my eyes. "If you're not going to work with me, I'll just go."

"How do I get out of here?" He muttered, so quietly I barely heard him.

"What?" I ask, trying to make sure I've heard him correctly.

"How do I get out of here?" He said more forcefully this time, but still just as quietly. His lips barely moved, his brows knit together.

"Like I'd tell you," I say, glancing at the two-way mirrors on the walls to my right. We were being watched, or at least recorded. I knew for sure they could hear everything we said.

This time he is the one to look at me skeptically. His battered and bruised figure doesn't match his dark eyes. They're searching and incriminating, noticing my look at the mirrors.

"They're not in there anymore," He says. "I saw them leave a few minutes ago."

Ignoring that he was implying that he could somehow see through the mirrors, I look at him sideways. "They wouldn't leave, I'm still in here," I say. "They said they'd be..." I trail off, not wanting to make myself look like I was afraid of him. I was wary of him; not exactly scared of him but I was sure he wasn't harmless. Even in his condition, I could tell he could hold his own against me. They'd said he put up a fight.

"You wouldn't make it out," I say. "There are too many soldiers and Avatars. You'd be taken down before you get back to the control center."

"Are you saying that's close?" He asks.

I pause. "Well, no, but it's the next closest thing. The medbay is this whole floor, you can only go up unless you have a keycard for storage. Which you don't."

I take his arm again, and he tries to pull it back and out of my grip. "Do not," I say. "Be grateful that I'm risking enough to tell you about the building while I'm supposed to be preparing you for a real interrogation."

He sits in silence for a moment. He flinches when I dab peroxide on his shoulder, carefully picking out pieces of gravel from the wounds with tweezers. "Fine," he sighs.

"Great."

He says nothing else the rest of the time I'm there.

By the time I'm done, I have a pile of blood-soaked cotton rounds and alcohol wipes next to me. I put them in an airtight box with my gloves to be disposed of for fear of contamination.

I stand up, survey the bandages on the singular cuts on his face and neck to make sure they will stay put, then pick up my bag and the waste and leave.

I don't look back at the boy. All I do is hope the recordings didn't pick up any of the information I gave him, whether it was fully intentional or not.

thanks for reading!                                                                                                                                                                -somepoets