#background bellarke

[hawthornewhisperer]

competition

Clarke and Echo have an uncomfortable conversation.  Canonverse.

A/N: Fair warning: this is going to feature canonverse be.cho, a bit of jealous-but-fighting-it!Clarke, and jealous-but-fighting-it!Echo. If you find any of those things upsetting that's totally fine, but then this ficlet maybe isn't for you. (No judgment if it isn't, I just want to make sure we're all on the same page before we start).

Inspired by this (maybe spoilery?) bts photo from Jroth.

It was hard not to eavesdrop.  Clarke had spent six years with only one other person for company and she’d gotten out of practice at letting other conversations fuzz out, so when Echo hissed angrily at Bellamy she couldn’t help but overhear.

“Echo, please,” he whispered.  Clarke busied herself with recounting their rations, but every word arrowed straight to her eardrums.

“Don’t,” Echo replied coldly.  “Don’t bother.” They were on the opposite side of the fire, and out of the corner of her eye she saw Bellamy touch Echo’s shoulder.

She jerked away and a note of annoyance crept into Bellamy's voice.  “Could you at least talk to me?”

“There’s nothing to talk about,” Echo retorted.  Clarke darted her gaze back to the pile of dried meat in front of her, but it was too late.  She caught Echo’s cold look and watched her stalk off into the dark like a panther seeking out its prey.  Bellamy watched her go and turned away, shoulders set in anger. Clarke’s stomach roiled.

No one had said so directly, but Clarke knew she was the cause of their tension.  It was written on everyone’s faces every time she so much as spoke to Bellamy. It was in the concerned looks flicked towards Echo, the general tightening of mouths whenever Bellamy stood just a little too close to her to discuss the plan.  She wanted to say something, promise everyone that she understood and wouldn’t get in the way, but broaching it felt massively narcissistic and she couldn’t quite find the words.

And then there was the fact that every time she saw him gently touch the small of Echo’s back or watched them share a private smile, her chest erupted with jealousy.  She hated feeling this way, furious with herself that she couldn’t just be happy that her friends were back.  But no matter how hard she tried, the feelings refused to fade.

Belatedly, Clarke realized she’d completely lost count and would have to start again.  She turned on her heel and walked towards the church, less for a specific reason and more to put distance between herself and the thick, billowing clouds of anger now rolling off Bellamy.  Her instinct was to try and comfort him except that would probably only make things worse.

But the church was already occupied.  Echo must have entered through the back, and Clarke realized yet again how much she’d forgotten in her six years with Madi— it had been so long since she needed to keep track of the whereabouts of more than one person.

Echo had her back to her, sorting through the pile of knives Clarke had scavenged from the Dead Zone.  She stiffened when Clarke let the door swing shut behind her. “Sorry, I’ll go,” Clarke said, and Echo blew out an angry breath.

“Don’t bother.  This is all yours anyway,” Echo muttered.  She stalked past Clarke with her chin high, and against Clarke’s better judgment she reached out and grabbed Echo’s wrist.

Echo shook her off.  “Don’t,” she said warningly, but the years alone with Madi had dulled Clarke’s ability to be tactful.

“Whatever it is, I’m sorry,” Clarke said.  Echo glared at her but she refused to back down, meeting the taller woman’s gaze evenly.

“Are you?” Echo asked.

“I don’t want to see any of you upset,” Clarke said, and that much was the truth.  But ever since they returned, Clarke had realized that while she had been sure to tell Madi as many stories as she knew about her friends, she knew precious little about Echo.  Most of what she’d told Madi about Echo was really about Roan, with Echo lingering on the periphery even of her own stories. But now she was back and Clarke had to reckon with the fact that she hadn’t given Echo much thought one way or another.  She felt arrogant for thinking that way, and more than a little stupid.

“Any of us? Or him?” Echo snarled.

“Any of you.”

Echo glowered at her fiercely and then slumped back against the table, all of the tension in her long limbs releasing at once.  “You just don’t stop, do you?” She shook her head and let her hair fall between them as a shield. “Out of everything, I never thought it would be you.”

“Echo, whatever it is— it’s in the past,” she tried.

That had Echo’s head snapping back up.  “That’s just the thing. It’s all in the past.  Everything here, you— you’re his past, and now you’re inescapable.  Up there I thought I could make peace with it, let you have that part of him because you were gone.  But you’re not and I can’t compete with a dead woman,” she spat, but tears were glimmering at the corners of her eyes.

“It’s not a competition,” Clarke said softly, because it wasn’t.  Bellamy might have been something to her before, back when she wasn’t sure she could love anyone anymore, but now he wasn’t and Clarke was doing her best to face that fact.  She wondered if this was what Raven felt like when she landed on the ground, expecting to pick up where she’d left off with Finn and discovering that a stranger had taken her place.  She was determined not to come between them, but even that wasn't enough.

“You’re right, it’s not,” Echo said bitterly.  “I lived with your ghost for years. Not just with him; with all of them.  Everyone had a story about you, a memory, something. Everyone but me, because to me, you were only ever Wanheda.”  Clarke flinched at that old title but let Echo continue, hoping she could draw some of her poison out. “And I was fine with it.  Not because I disliked you or thought you were a threat, but because they needed that. They needed you, all of them did, but Bellamy— Bellamy especially.  I watched him grieve for you and it took years before he could say your name, but I understood.  Not because I was in love with him then, but because up there we only had each other.”  

Echo straightened and looked down at her, a single tear tracking down her cheek.  “He loved you, you know,” she said, and Clarke’s heart curled inward. “I don’t know if he ever admitted it to anyone else, but he told me.  And I understood, had known for probably longer than he did, and it didn’t bother me. I let him keep part of himself tucked away behind glass for you, because that’s what he needed.  And now—” she broke off and looked away, shaking her head. “Now he won’t admit it.”

Clarke was surprised she was even able to find her voice.  “Admit what?”

“That he has unfinished business with you.  That he can’t be with me and feel whatever he feels for you.”

“I won’t— I won’t get in your way,” Clarke promised.

Echo scoffed.  “Of course you wouldn’t.  I know what happened with Raven and Finn, I know— I know so much about you, Clarke.  And I also know that every single one of them would have thrown me out into Praimfaya for you without hesitation, and now— now I have to live with that.”

“I’m sorry,” Clarke said miserably.  Tears flowed down both their cheeks as their hearts cracked open but neither of them looked away.  Clarke had wanted her friends back but not like this— not if her presence was causing them pain. She didn’t know how to fix it, but she knew she wanted to try.

Echo was the one who broke their gaze.  “I know you are. But those people out there— I would die for them, Clarke.  I would. In a second. It’s been a long time, but I’m still a warrior of Azgeda and if that’s what it takes to keep them safe, I’ll die.”  Echo started towards the door and paused at the opening, flickering candlelight throwing her cheekbones into sharp relief against the darkness beyond. “I’d die for them.  But you? You already did.”

A/N 2.0: Obligatory gentle reminder that if you dislike be.cho or Echo I totally understand, but please do not use the comments/tags here to work out your feelings towards that ship/character. xoxo, hawthornewhisperer.

[bellarke-addict]

Bellamy's Bad Afternoon

these_dreams_go_on

Summary:

Bellamy's streak of bad luck continues in the bunker

Bellamy Blake was not having a good afternoon.

It had started okay, not overly great, the monotony of the bunker was sending people a little stir crazy, but it wasn’t anything they couldn’t handle.

He was hanging out with his sister in her office, his feet on her desk while she tore up bits of old paper to scrunch into balls and throw at him, when Abby’s voice sounded over the p.a system.

“Attention Skai-kru members,” she announced, 

“Please convene in the entry chamber.”

Bellamy had tilted his head back to listen to the message, allowing Octavia a clear shot to his neck, the paper bouncing down to his chest,

“What’s going on?” he asked,

“No idea,” she said, pushing herself to her feet, “Maybe it’s a coup?”

He glares at her, “Not funny, O!”

She shrugs, “What? I’m so bored I’d almost welcome a little bloodshed, I don’t even fight with Roan anymore!”

“Wow, marital bliss,” Bellamy snapped, “Must be terrible.”

“Oh, go float yourself,” she snaps, “You’d be bored too if you stopped pretending you and Clarke aren’t crazy in love with each other.”

He covers her mouth to make her shut up and she shakes him off just as they reach the ramp where Abby was waiting with Jackson and Kane as people filled the chamber, Skai-kru with a few curious grounders mixed in.

“Wish me luck.” Abby says, jokingly.

“Good afternoon, everyone!” she called down to the crowd, “I’m sure you’ve all lost track of the days, but…it’s that time of year again.”

A few realize where she’s going before the others and begin booing, alerting the rest to her intentions.

“Yes!” she shouts over their catcalling, “The annual STI checks! No-one is exempt, Jackson and I will be examining each and every last one of you over the age of sixteen.”

“Lucky us.” Jackson mutters under his breath and Bellamy smirks in sympathy.

“Hey!” a voice calls and Jasper reaches up for one of the ramp railings, using it to hoist himself up above the heads of the crowd, he waves his free arm above his head wildly, “Hey!”

Abby shakes her head, frowning, “Yes, Mr Jordan?” she prompts, 

“You have a question?”

His grin is positively evil, “Yeah, can’t you just check Bellamy Blake and let the rest of us know if we should be concerned?”

Bellamy’s jaw drops, “Screw you, Jasper!” he shouts above the shrieks of laughter from the crowd,

“Well,” Jasper calls back, having to raise his voice, “Not yet, but I assume I’m on your to-do list.”

Abby has her lips pressed together as she loses the crowd and Kane is eyeing Bellamy with disapproval and burgeoning concern.

“Everyone will be tested,” she repeats, “No exceptions.”

“Wait!” Monty shouts from his position with his shoulder supporting one of Jasper’s feet, “What about the persons who haven’t slept with Bellamy?”

He was going to kill them all.

“Yeah!” Jasper cries, “Let’s have a round of applause for the one and only, Octavia Blake!”

Octavia holds up her hands, nodding as the chamber fills with mock applause and cheers,

“Thank-you, thank-you,” she says with fake modesty, “I would like to give a little credit to my husband and a lot to the Westermarck effect”

“Why are you piling in on this?” he yells, the crowd’s hilarity nearly deafening.

“Why not?” she demands, shrugging, “Not my fault you’re a little slutty.”

“Bellamy,” Kane murmurs under his breath, his fist pressed to his mouth,

“Just how many of our people have you slept with?”

Should have let Praimfaya burn him when he had the chance.

“Alright, alright!” Jackson hollers, “We are going to check everyone over the age of sixteen…but in the interest of fairness,” he adds, “We’ll be testing Bellamy first.”

“Just so you know,” he mutters, as Jackson puts his hands on his shoulders and guides him down the ramp, “I’m going to kill you all when I get the chance.”

He glances over the crowd and notes that at least Clarke wasn’t there to witness his humiliation.

Bellamy’s cheeks are still burning as Jackson walks him into the infirmary where they come across Raven sitting on the bed, nursing a small burn,

“What’re you in for?” she asks conversationally and he groans, “Don’t ask.”

“Mr Blake is first in line for the annual sexual health check-up,” Abby announced, coming in behind them, “We’ll take your blood first.”

“I think you took my dignity first,” he grumbles, beginning to roll up his sleeve as Raven laughed,

“Ha, ha,” she chortled, “You probably have all the diseases.”

He pauses, his hand still on his sleeve, “Think that through, Reyes.”

“Oh,” her face drops comically, “Dammit…Abby, can you check me after him?”  

Dr Griffin releases a ragged sigh, “At this rate, if he does test positive for anything we may have to cull all the Skai-kru adults and foster the children to Trikru.”

“I’m curious,” Bellamy snaps, putting his hands on his hips as everyone in the room turns to stare at him, “Just how big a slut do you all think I am?”

Abby is prepping the needle, “Jackson,” she calls, not looking up, 

“Can you do an inventory on our antibiotics?”

“Bellamy,” Kane appears at his side, “May I have your gun?”

He glares at him, “I might need it later.”

“Which is why I’m asking for it now.” Kane points out, “Hand it over.”

He slaps the weapon into his palm, “Also, I’m quitting the guards,” he snaps, “Good luck finding someone to train the grounders.”

“Uh huh,” Kane pats his shoulder, “We’ll talk when you’re a little less emotional.”

As it turned out, Clarke had been meeting with the healers to try and determine whether any of the annual ailments would hit the bunker and how best to prepare, so by the time Bellamy is released with a clean bill of health, she’s just making her way to the upper levels.

“Hey.” she greets as he gestures with his hand, “I’m headed the other way, walk with me.”

She spins on her heel and falls into step beside him, “Where’re we going?”

“I’m going to kill Jasper,” he tells her and she hums, clearly unconcerned with his sudden foray into murderous rage,

“Any particular reason why?”

“Yes.” He answers in a clipped tone, and she waits until she realizes that he’s not going to elaborate,

“Are you going to tell me?”

“No.”

She shrugs, “So, the healers have told us that there’s this sickness called wintam haken (winter ill) which is pretty self-explanatory, the symptoms sound like what our ancestors called the flu. We didn’t have it on the Ark so we have no immunity but hopefully it won’t be too bad.”

He nods as they enter the Skai-kru quarters and go straight to his dorm which is empty and he curses, “He must be hiding.”

Clarke smirks and swings on the bedpost, climbing onto his bed, “So are you set on killing him or would you settle for maiming?”

“Maiming means more work for your mom,” he points out, “And she’s busy enough right now.”

Clarke makes a sound of realization, “Oh that’s right, it’s STI check-up time.”

Suddenly her eyes go wide, “Does this have anything to do with Jasper?”

“Oh, come on!” he protests, “You can’t seriously think I slept with Jasper?!”

She shrugs, “I don’t know, but you’re pretty angry.”

“When would I have even had the time to have sex with him?” he demands, 

“If I’m not on guard shifts, I’m training new recruits, getting my ass kicked by Roan and finally going to bed just to have my pillows and blankets stolen by you!”

His words fall between them, unable to be recalled and he’s worried that noting the frequency with which they share their beds might make the situation awkward, bring the realization that friends don’t sleep in the same bed every night when there was two to be slept in.

Clarke raises an eyebrow but otherwise doesn’t react, leaning back on her hands,

“Okay,” she says simply, “So if Jasper is in hiding, what’s your plan B?”

Burn the bunker to the ground.

He shrugs, “If you have any ideas, princess?”

Her grin is positively wicked and he’s never known her to have a cheeky side.

“He keeps a flask hidden around here somewhere, right?”

It turned out that the grounders had their own method for STI testing, a tincture that could be mixed in with moonshine with little change to the taste.

Two days later, when Jasper’s urine turned a bright blue, Bellamy was able to inform him, over the roaring laughter of their dorm, that according to the grounder healers, that meant he was clean.

[hawthornewhisperer]

I LOVE your Clarke/Roan (and Bell/Gina!) stuff honestly but I'm not very imaginative when it comes to prompts! Maybe something in the aftermath of when ice nation attacks skaikru delegation (in the next ep) after Clarke and Bellamy have a blowout and Clarke is forced to stay with lexa even after the attack? Which would be traumatizing probably. Idk I love all of it! Thanks!

I hope this is only marginally traumatizing?  The usual mix of Clarke/Roan, Clarke/Lexa, and Clarke/Bellamy that is the Their Faces AU.  Part I, Part II.

“So you’re staying.”  It wasn’t a question, and the anger in Bellamy’s voice tore at her skin.  “I thought once you knelt to her, you’d be done.”

“It’s not that simple,” she said, trying and failing to keep the tremor out of her voice.  “There’s things I need to--I’m staying,” she finished.  “I will come home, but...not yet.”

“What now?  What possible reason could you have to stay?” he exploded.  “They tried to kill us, in case you forgot.”

“Never.”  She wanted him to understand that every death of her people left a mark on her soul, and that was why she was staying— her soul was too heavy, too black.  She couldn’t bear for them to see that, so she would stay in Polis with a woman whose soul was as dark as her own.  But the words wouldn’t come, so instead she focused on holding back the tears.

“Then why won’t you come home?”  He sounded almost as broken as she was, and Clarke turned towards her balcony rail to steel herself.  She wondered where Roan was; they had freedom of the building now, but weren’t allowed out the doors yet.  He was usually in their shared quarters, but he had left some time before Bellamy arrived.  “We need you there, Clarke.  It’s not— it’s not the same without you.  We’re lost.  We need you,” he begged.

She wrapped her hands around the iron railing and let the metal ground her.  “Not yet.  Please, Bellamy, don’t ask again.”

“I won’t,” he spat, and all the sadness was gone, replaced by rage.  She’d earned that, she supposed.

“Stay safe,” she whispered, but she couldn’t bring herself to turn around and watch him leave.  Instead she watched the newly budding leaves wave in the breeze, even as each of his footsteps felt like a knife in her heart.  He closed the door behind him, and a tear slipped down his cheek.

The sun had sunk to the tops of the trees when the door opened again and Roan padded softly across their room.  “Your people left,” he observed, joining her at the balcony.

“They did.”

“I heard heda offered you a chance to leave.”

“I couldn’t.”

He scoffed.  “The great wanheda, scared to see her own people.”

“That’s not what this is,” she said.  He’d called her that so many times it had lost its sting, or maybe she’d come to hate him a little less during her confinement.

“It’s not?”

“I have to stay.”

“Because you have feelings for the Commander and you think that’s betraying him.  So you’re running.  Again.”

“You’re wrong.”

Roan laughed, a velvety dark sound.  “You’re a bad liar.”

“And you’re not as smart as you think you are,” Clarke snapped.

“Perhaps not.”  He leaned close enough for his breath to tickle her ear.  “But I have eyes, and it’s obvious that Wanheda has brought two powerful people to their knees.”  He backed away and sauntered towards his bunk.  “You’ll have to choose, you know,” he called over his shoulder.  “One day.”

[hawthornewhisperer]

Griffin’s Anatomy: Kane

I have a goddamn armada of ships for this show.  It’s honestly ridiculous.

Marcus watched Abby, regal in her dark green dress, chatting with a handful of grey-haired men in tuxes.  Abby Griffin was born for this world, even as she was born to be a surgeon.  It astonished him how easily she could move between the operating room and galas like this--one minute she was replacing a heart valve and the next she was charming rich old men into giving the hospital money, and both of those skills came as naturally to her as breathing.

He still remembered her their first year of med school, fierce and determined to be the best.  She was, (unquestionably), and Marcus had felt drawn to her even then, but one drunken kiss outside a bar was all it had ever been.  She met Jake Griffin three weeks later, and within a year they were engaged.  It wasn’t that Marcus had been pining for her for the past thirty years--his marriage failed because he was a self-centered ass, not because of Abby--but lately, things had softened between them.  For years he thought she hated him, judging by the way she argued with him in the OR and refused his suggestions once she was chief of surgery.

Clarke changed all that for him.  Clarke was the key to understanding Abby, because it was through Clarke that Marcus realized that Abby’s steely determination and refusal to compromise was simply her way of challenging the status quo. It wasn’t hatred--it wasn’t about him at all.  It was simply how the Griffin women worked.  He realized that standing across from Clarke in the OR, her jaw clenched just like her mother’s.  Clarke had the same stiff spine, the same cold fire that burned within Abby.

The grey haired donors departed and Marcus took his chance.  He grabbed two full champagne flutes from a passing waiter and slipped one into her hand.  She was focused, a look he recognized from hundreds of surgeries, and followed her gaze.  “Ah, the happy couple.  How are they doing?”

Across the crowded ballroom, Blake had his hand resting on Clarke’s bare back as he leaned down to whisper something in her ear.  Clarke tipped her chin down, listening intently, and then smiled up at him.

Abby took a sip of her champagne and sighed.  “She’s moving in with him.  She called and told me this morning.”

“So soon?  It’s been what, six months?”  Abby gave him a wry look.  “Ah, I see.  Of course.  It’s been six months since they told you.”

“That’s my daughter for you.  I think she was trying to protect him by keeping it from me.”

“Blake’s a good kid,” Marcus offered lamely.

“Kid?  Marcus, he’s thirty-two.”

Marcus tried to fight his smile and failed.  “They just seem so young--were we ever that young?”  Fifteen feet away, Clarke rested her head against Blake’s shoulder, his arm now draped around her waist.

Abby looked at him and smiled.  There were streaks of grey in her hair now, but her brown eyes were as bright as ever.  “It’s hard to believe, isn’t it?”

Impulsively, Marcus reached out and took Abby’s hand in his and gave it a comforting squeeze.  And Abby mirrored her daughter’s movements and leaned her temple against his shoulder, squeezing back.

[captainandor]

Can you write Bellamy/Clarke and Wick/Raven double date?

A/N: this probably isn’t exactly what you meant, but i’m not big on modern AUs so i wrote this into the canon ‘verse.

Step-by-Step Instructions

"This is the stupidest idea you’ve ever had."              

Wick just raises a challenging eyebrow. “Oh really? What about that time—”

"Yeah, it’s even stupider than that time you thought it was a good idea to repair that door on your own and welded yourself into the supply closet by accident."

"What I was going to say," he forges ahead, like he didn’t even hear her, "is that time I hid your helmet. You almost broke my nose."

"Well, you deserved it. Don’t mess with this girl’s zero-g gear." She smirks at him, trying to ignore the twinge of sadness at the thought of never making a zero-g repair again. Everything’s happened so fast she’s hardly had time to miss it, but a couple months on the ground and losing the use of one of her legs has reminded her just what she’s lost. Most people didn’t have hobbies on the Ark—her job was her hobby. She loved it and it was a part of her. That’s all gone now.

"Hang on, Reyes. Who says I welded myself in by accident? It was a nice supply closet, end of a double shift. I just wanted a little peace and quiet so I could take a nap.”

Raven laughs and rolls her eyes. “Creating more work for the rest of us, as usual.”

He chuckles, and they walk in silence for a while, at her pace, which is so slow she wants to scream in frustration. It’s not helped by the fact that their route lies through the forest and up the incline of a hill. When she’s not dragging her leg through the underbrush or hoisting it over fallen logs, she’s taking a breather, trying not to pant from the unfamiliar exertion. He doesn’t say a word about it, just follows her lead. Bellamy and Clarke trail behind them, guns in hand, protective as always. There’s tentative peace with the nearby Grounder tribes, but there are worse things in the woods than Grounders.

Her bad foot catches on a root and she teeters momentarily, trying to regain her balance. Wick’s hand goes for her elbow and she smacks it away, leaning hard on her cane to counteract the momentum.

"I’m fine," she snaps.

He holds his hands up in surrender. “Okay.”

She can feel Clarke and Bellamy’s concerned looks boring into her back, and she’s glad they’re behind her so she doesn’t have to see them as well. She knows they care about her—she appreciates that—but she can’t stand pity. And these days it feels like she sees pity everywhere, even where it doesn’t exist.

She moves forward again, one slow step at a time, and tries not to pant when she asks, “How much farther?”

Wick squints up the hill. “Half a mile maybe?”

Raven snorts. “Maybe? You’ve made this trek half a dozen times. You should know.”

"Well, excuse me for not acing Earth Skills like some know-it-alls I could mention."

Raven heaves an exasperated sigh. “You’ve been working on this radio tower for weeks. I still don’t understand why you need my help with it all of a sudden.”

Wick claps a hand to his chest, an exaggerated expression of shock on his face. “What was that, Reyes? Do my ears deceive me, or—”

"Yeah, you heard me," she grumbles.

He throws out an arm, declaring to the forest at large, “At long last, she admits one of my designs needs no improvements.”

Raven sneaks a glance over her shoulder. Clarke has a tiny smile on her lips, but Bellamy frowns at Wick and orders, “Keep it down.”

Wick gives him a short nod, turning to face forward again and muttering, “Buzzkill.”

"Go easy on him," Raven protests, quietly enough that Bellamy won’t hear her. "You don’t know what he’s been through, trying to keep everyone alive. Can’t all be like you."

"Oh yeah? How’s that?"

Raven’s mouth opens and closes as she tries to find words to explain how Wick is. “Happy,” she says at last, although she’s not quite satisfied with the word.

He snorts, wipes a hand across his mouth. “Life’s been pretty sucky in general for all of us. Might as well find the humor in it.”

Raven doesn’t say anything, because this is what she likes about Wick. He tells it like it is—no pretenses, no lies. He acknowledges the darkness, but he doesn’t let it dim his light. It’s comforting to be around him. She likes being around him.

She’d eat his hideous leg brace before admitting it, though.

"So the tower…you’ve got a better signal range up here? Six stations unaccounted for still, and they could be miles away, on the other side of the mountains, systems down." She tries not to think of all the dead already found at the Factory station site, burning up in the atmosphere on Arrow station. She wants to believe that there are other Ark survivors out there, but it’s a slimmer hope the more time passes.

"Worth a try, anyway," Wick says grimly, like he was privy to her morbid thoughts. "Higher ground is better. I need you to walk me through that thing you do to prevent the mountain men from jamming the signal. Step by step."

"Step by step, huh?" Raven grins. "What, they don’t teach you how to follow more than one instruction at a time in engineering?"

"Maybe because our instructions are far more intricate than yours."

"Get me out on a zero-g repair and I’ll show you intricate.”

"You caught me, Reyes," Wick says, with a lopsided grin. "I just had to find an excuse to get you out here on a double date."

Raven raises an eyebrow. “A what?” she asks, injecting a challenging note into her tone.

He gives her an exaggeratedly scandalized expression. “Oh come on. You know, back in the good old days, two couples would go out together, get a milkshake or something.”

Raven gives him a generous amount of side-eye. “Cool your jets, Wick. We’re missing a few things. Two couples. And the milkshakes. We’re literally missing everything that makes up a double date.”

He shoots a glance over his shoulder, then leans closer to her, asking in a low tone, “You sure about that?”

Raven glances back too. Clarke and Bellamy are still walking side by side, guns in their hands, exchanging quiet words every once in a while. They’re comrades-in-arms, co-leaders, friends. All of those things are a small miracle in themselves, considering where they started from. But what Wick is suggesting…she hasn’t even considered it. Have they? Somehow she doesn’t think so.

She turns back to Wick, leaning close to him to whisper, “Don’t let them hear you say that.”

"Why, think Bellamy’d give me ten shocklashes for it?"

Raven laughs, shakes her head. “I’d put my money on Clarke.”

"What about you?" He waggles an eyebrow.

"I’ll settle for this," she says, and leans away so she can smack him in the arm with her cane.

He rubs his arm, mouthing a theatrical “Ouch.”

"There’s more where that came from," she warns, "if you speak the words double date again.”

When they reach the top of the hill, the view momentarily takes Raven’s breath away. It’s mostly clear of trees, so she has a line of sight to the mountain range, meadows interrupting the endless forest, streams winding their silver-blue way through the valleys, Alpha station in the distance. She hasn’t seen anything quite like it on Earth yet. Her time with the hundred was spent primarily in the dense woods, and she hasn’t left Camp Jaha once until now. They’re on a mission, but she can’t help taking a few precious minutes to herself to appreciate the beauty.

What is it all for, if not for this?

She turns to look towards the east, and instead sees Wick, who’s looking not at the beauty of nature but at her. He glances away, but not before she catches the soft look in his eyes, the half-smile on his face. She blinks a couple of times, startled. Has he always looked at her like that?

She turns to point her cane at his radio tower instead. It’s about five meters tall, cobbled together with a lot of scrap metal, but it looks functional. “That it?”

"No, it’s that tree over there," Wick replies, voice dripping with sarcasm.

Well, she deserved that. This hill’s been completely reclaimed by nature—possibly never marked by civilization—and the tower stands out as much as their dropship ever did in the woods. Still, she mutters the obligatory, “What a piece of crap,” and starts toward it.

Wick slides his pack off his shoulders and follows her. “Why, thank you,” he calls cheerfully after her.

Clarke follows too, stands by Raven at the foot of the tower as they both look up at it. “Hey,” she says, “Bellamy and I are going to patrol the perimeter of the woods. You okay here?”

Raven nods and pats the handgun sitting snugly in its thigh holster on her good leg. It’s a miracle the four of them were allowed to leave Camp Jaha without a guard escort, and an even bigger miracle that the rules regulating firearms usage have been relaxed a little. But Clarke is a miracle worker, and a month on the ground has finally made the Ark residents see that on Earth, everyone has to be a soldier.

They settle down to work—Wick climbs the tower while Raven sits below and shouts up instructions to him, one by one as he’d asked. It takes the better part of an hour, and she forces him to make several equipment adjustments that he grouses irritably about, but in the end, she’s satisfied that they’ve set up a far-reaching signal that the mountain men won’t be able to block, for the time being anyway.

Wick climbs down, brushing his hands off on his pants as they study their handiwork with satisfaction.

“Looks pretty good,” he says, a trace of genuine pride in his voice.

“Well…I’m not ashamed to say I worked on it, at least,” Raven allows.

Wick groans. “Reyes, you’re killing me! Can you just for once admit—”

“Nope.” She turns to make her way over to Clarke, who’s sitting on a patch of grass working on a map. She’s been working on it for weeks, adding in bits and pieces of the terrain she covers. It’s her pet project, trying to reconcile the differences between the hundred-year-old maps they own and the way the land looks now, so they can know as much about their new home as possible. Bellamy’s pacing at a distance, keeping a watchful eye on everyone.

“Should we start back?” Raven asks Clarke, who looks up at her.

“Are you rested enough?”

If she’s honest with herself, her muscles are still aching in protest. No one else needs to know that. “Yeah, I’m good to go.”

Wick appears at her side, dropping his pack to the ground and unzipping it. “Well, that’s too bad, because we’re going to take a load off and eat.”

Clarke looks hesitant, eyes shifting between the two of them.

Bellamy walks up, gun slung over his shoulder now. “Is it done? What’s the hold-up?”

Raven’s not about to be the one to slow them all down. She’s determined not to be a liability. “Nothing, let’s go.” She takes a few steps forward, keeping the wince off her face, but these three people know her well enough to see right past that. Damn them.

“Come on, Blake,” Wick says good-naturedly. “Half an hour won’t be the end of the world.” He yanks a ration pack out and tosses it at Bellamy, who catches it one-handed.

He looks down at it, then up at Wick, then Raven, and finally Clarke, where his eyes linger. She gives a tiny, nearly imperceptible nod. “Yeah, okay,” he concedes, and sits down next to her.

Raven lets out a silent breath, grateful to all of them for forcing her to rest while making it seem like it isn’t about her at all. She sits down where she’s standing, and Wick brings her a ration pack and a bottle of water. She eats and drinks with abandon, exhaustion finally catching up to her, sneaking glances at the beautiful landscape stretched out in front of them every once in a while. It seems wrong, somehow, to stare at it too much when some of their people might be out there in it, dying.

Wick leans in, murmurs, “You can look at it for more than five seconds, you know.”

“Can I?” she asks quietly, and it’s not really a question. She’d thought there could be nothing more beautiful than Earth from space, but it turns out nothing compares to sitting in the midst of it. Earth is beautiful and deadly, and if she stops to look at its loveliness too much, she might forget about the deadly part.

“Yes,” he says, voice gone soft and serious. She glances up at him, and he’s giving her that look again, like she’s what he climbed all this way to look at. Not the mountains, not the rivers, not the endless green, her, and no one’s really looked at her like that before and she doesn’t know what to do with it.

She doesn’t have to, though, because he raises his bottle in a toast like it has moonshine in it instead of water. “To a job well done.”

She clinks her bottle against his, takes a drink, then adds, “Half well done. I wasn’t here for all of it.”

He makes a sound of disbelief and shakes his head, but Raven can see him smiling despite himself. It’s her turn to study him now, how different he looks in the sun than he did on the Ark, hair lighter and eyes less brown and more green than she’d thought. It’s a strange sensation, like she’s finally seeing him for how he truly looks, and it strikes her with sudden clarity that he didn’t drag her up here to work on the radio tower, not really. She could’ve written down the instructions, sent them along with him. He dragged her up here because she needed to be here, to get out of Camp Jaha, to breathe freely, to feel like herself again. To carry herself here, step by painful step.

She wants to thank him, but she doesn’t have the words. “It’s beautiful,” she says instead, and she could be talking about any number of things.

Wick nods towards Bellamy and Clarke, who are now both bent over the map, eyes intently following the path of Clarke’s pencil. Clarke sits back with a satisfied smile, studying her handiwork, and Bellamy studies her, out of the corner of his eyes like he thinks no one’s looking. And suddenly, Raven sees a flicker of something she’s never noticed before, and maybe Wick’s not totally wrong.

“What do you know?” he says under his breath. “Looks like we’re on a double date after all.”

Raven whacks him in the arm with her cane again—because she’s a woman of her word—but she allows Wick to help her up from the ground, and when she catches a glimpse of Clarke’s map as she folds it up, instead of paths and coordinates, there’s a perfect replica of the landscape in front of them sketched out in one corner.