Devotion

Six months had passed before he returned her to her kind. If it were up to him he would have kept her with him always, taken her far from this place with its war and violence and uncertainty. They could have joined up with a different tribe, one of the groups occupying the land up and down the eastern coast. But now he was here, back at this gate, with her in his arms as though they'd never left.

"It's the grounder! He's brought Octavia! Open the gate!" came the frantic shout from inside. The high-pitched rent of metal scraping against metal filled the air and he glanced down at her features, turned sunken and sallow with sickness. For this one last moment at least, she was still his.

Her brother was the first to appear, his eyes bright with excitement. He took in the scene before him and his expression quickly turned serious.

"What is it? What's wrong with her?" he demanded.

"She's sick," he explained, his voice ragged with exhaustion. "I've tried everything I know…"

"Quickly, bring her inside," he ordered, and then shouted over his shoulder for everyone else to get back. "Until we know what she's sick with I want everyone to stay clear, understand?"

The stares of the others were penetrating and relentless. He knew how he must appear to them. Wild. Dangerous. Unpredictable. A hush fell over the camp as he carried her to the large metal pod where they treated their sick. Their gazes made his skin crawl, but there was no helping it. He couldn't let her die and it had become painfully obvious over the last 24 hours that there was nothing more he could do for her. He'd given her every remedy, every antidote he could think of but it was not enough. Returning here was his last hope. If they couldn't help her…

The leader of the camp, Clarke, rushed forward as soon as they entered the door of the pod.

"Octavia! Oh my god, what happened to her?"

His arms were reluctant to release her. He held her tight, comforted by the faint rise and fall of her chest with each breath. During the last two hours those breaths had become shallow and uneven, and her eyes refused to open. He wished they would, even if it were only for a moment…

"Lincoln! Are you listening? What happened to Octavia?!"

The blonde one's shouts roused him and he looked up at her with a vacant expression.

"I don't know," he answered with a shake of his head. "I've tried everything I know. Please help her."

Her brows furrowed with concern and she motioned to a nearby table. "Okay, put her down so I can look at her."

He set her down atop the table as she'd asked and stepped back. The sudden absence of her from his arms sent an ache straight to the centre of his chest. He felt naked, exposed. His fists clenched at his side as he fought back the rising tide of helplessness welling within him. He watched carefully, his eyes missing nothing as Clarke checked her heart rate and temperature.

"I'm going to ask you some questions and I need to you answer them. I can't help her if I don't know the truth."

He nodded.

"How long has she been like this?"

"Three days," he answered quietly.

"Three days?" her brother demanded. "And you waited until now to bring her to us?"

He said nothing. He knew better than most just how explosive Bellamy's anger could be. He stood still and waited for the next question, his eyes fixed on Clarke as her hands poked and prodded, searching Octavia for clues.

"How did it start? What were her symptoms?"

"She had pain in her stomach. We thought it was nothing to be concerned about," he said gravely and his lips pressed together. Clarke had lifted Octavia's shirt and was feeling her belly, carefully watching for any signs of pain. Octavia did not move, not even to whimper.

"She began to vomit and the pain became worse. I gave her medicine to help with the sickness and the fever but nothing worked. This morning when I tried to rouse her…"

He trailed off and swallowed hard to clear his throat. "Please," he begged, "you must help her."

"We'll do the best we can," Clarke promised, offering him a faint, reassuring smile. "Before she became sick what did she eat?"

He paused, forcing his mind back to what felt like an eternity ago. Three days. Had it only been that long?

They'd made love that morning, slow and languid, and then picked mushrooms and caught rabbits for their meal. If he closed his eyes he could still hear the sound of her laughter, light peals echoing through the air as he chased her around the trees. His heart had never felt lighter than the months he'd spent with her at his side. He told the others what they'd eaten, careful to leave out the more personal details of their last day together.

To his surprise, Clarke's eyes lit up.

"Wait here," she instructed and ran out of the structure. He stepped in close to the table, his eyes studying Octavia in detail. He wanted to kiss her, to reach out and caress the side of her face so she knew that he was there. Feeling her brother's penetrating stare he held back and kept his hands pinned to his side. The unspoken words held in Bellamy's gaze were clear enough to not need translation – If she dies, this is on you Grounder. He closed his eyes, unwilling to rise to the fight.

Clarke returned, running breathlessly up to the table. In her hand was a mushroom, much like the ones he'd picked with Octavia.

"Is this the mushroom you ate?"

He took it from her and turned it over, carefully inspecting the underside. With a nod he handed it back to her.

"They're called maitake. They're safe to eat."

"For you, maybe" Clarke corrected him with a frown. "Maybe they were safe for humans to eat a hundred years ago but after being on The Ark for so long our bodies can't process fungi like this. It's like eating poison. A few of the others ate them by mistake and became ill a couple of weeks ago."

"So, you know how to save her then?"

"I can try," she replied dubiously. "She's weaker than the others. All of them made it but…"

"No," he cut in, his voice razor sharp. "She is strong. She will survive."

"I'll do my best," Clarke reassured him with a gentle hand on his arm. "Why don't you wait outside with Bellamy? I'll call you if there is any change."

Bellamy's face contorted into a scowl. A stern look from Clarke was enough to silence any protest he was ready to make.

"Come on Grounder," he groused, gesturing at the door. "Let Clarke handle this."

With a reluctant nod of his head, he allowed Bellamy to lead him out of the structure and to his tent. Bellamy took a seat atop his bedding and motioned to a small stool in the corner. Lincoln silently lowered himself onto it and waited, careful to keep his eyes on the hard-packed dirt floor.

"I owe you an apology."

His eyes lifted in surprise and met Bellamy's stern gaze.

"For torturing you," he added. Bellamy fidgeted with his hands in this lap while his knee bounced in agitation. "I crossed a line that day that I shouldn't have crossed. I just wanted you to know."

He kept silent, having little interest in assuaging the boy's guilty conscience. Not with Octavia's life hanging in the balance mere steps away.

"Thank you for bringing her back," he tried again. "I know it couldn't have been easy for you to come here."

Of course it hadn't been easy. He'd literally tried every treatment he could think of, racked his brain for hours trying to find some combination of herbs he hadn't yet considered. Was it radiation sickness? Was it poison? It wasn't until this morning, when he was certain he might lose her that his feet had led him back to this place. He'd sworn never to return, but things change when the life of the one you love is in danger.

"No harm will come to you while you're here," Bellamy vowed with an earnest look. He nodded in acknowledgement and turned his head in the direction of the medical centre, listening for any sounds of distress.

"I appreciate you taking care of Octavia all these months. I know she cares about you and I think you care about her too."

He turned his gaze to Bellamy and held it, nodding once. Bellamy smiled fleetingly and chaffed his hands loosely in his lap.

"That's good. That should make this easier."

He tilted his head curiously to the side. "What do you mean?"

"Well, I think it's pretty clear, don't you? Octavia belongs here, with her own kind. There are too many things out there that can hurt her. You've done a good job of protecting her, but even you must know you can't protect her from everything."

The suggestion pierced him like an arrow and he winced internally at the thought of leaving her behind.

"That is not your decision to make," he said evenly, holding Bellamy's gaze.

"No, it's not," he agreed. "It's yours. Think it over and I think you'll realize I'm right."

Bellamy got to his feet with a light groan and headed for the door of the tent. "I'm going to check on the others. Think about what I said."

He slipped quietly out the door, leaving him alone. The thought of leaving Octavia behind in this place was ridiculous. She would never stand for it. But Bellamy's words echoed back to him, the truth ringing heavy within them.

You can't protect her from everything.

He couldn't possibly know what parts of his world were dangerous to her. She seemed so much like him that he'd never stopped to consider the ways their physiology might be different. There was much he still did not understand about her people. What if there were other foods that would make her sick, or even kill her? Foods he might serve to her without knowing any better? The thought of it made his inside clench tight. His ignorance might kill her and he would never forgive himself if that happened.

He slipped out the door of the tent and sought out the one person who could help him. He found him at the gate where he stood guard with his weapon in hand. The boy's eyes widened in surprise when he saw him and he gripped his gun a little tighter.

"What are you doing here? Is Octavia with you?" Jasper glanced anxiously over his shoulder. It wasn't difficult to detect the glimmer of hope in his expression.

"You care for her," he replied. It was a statement, not a question.

Jasper's eyes reluctantly gave up their search for Octavia. "Of course I do," he answered and defiantly straightened his shoulders.

"Then vow that you will protect her, keep her safe."

"What is this about?"

When no answer was forthcoming, the boy blinked rapidly and swallowed hard.

"Alright," he said, his voice trembling. "I swear I'll protect her."

Satisfied, he retreated but Jasper called after him. "She'll hate you for leaving, you know."

His steps froze, if only for a moment. It was true, she would hate him, but in time she would understand. Her life was worth any price to him, even if it meant that he could never see her again. Even if it meant that she would hold a grudge against him for years to come. At least she would be alive, and that was more than he could promise her.

His feet led him back to the metal structure where they treated their sick. Clarke was hovering over her, checking her temperature with a furrowed brow. She glanced up as he entered but didn't seem all that surprised to see him.

"I think her fever might be going down," she said helpfully. "I gave her some medicine. We just need to wait and see if it'll work."

He nodded and moved closer, his gaze fixated on Octavia. Her eyes remained closed and he wished more than anything that she would open them once more for him. There was no holding back this time. His fingertips caressed her soft cheek while his eyes took their time memorizing each of her features. He never wanted to forget. When he was ready, he brushed his lips across her forehead and then down to her cheek where they lingered long enough for him to breathe her in before pulling away.

"You're leaving, aren't you?" Clarke said quietly from behind him. "Look, whatever Bellamy said-"

"Don't blame him," he explained. "He only spoke the truth."

"At least wait until she wakes up. She'll want to see you."

He smiled sadly and finally tore his eyes away, lifting them to Clarke's concerned features. "Which is why I must leave now."

Realization dawned and she moved closer, lowering her voice. "You love her. That's why you're leaving, isn't it?"

When he looked away she moved forward, taking him by the arms. "You need to be here when she wakes up."

He gently removed her hands from his sleeves and turned for the door. "Take care of her. Make her well again."

"She'll never be happy here. Lincoln, please. Think about this."

"I have," he said simply, feeling the emptiness begin to hollow him out. He headed for the door with leaden feet and made it outside into the daylight. He braced a hand against the door of the craft to gather his bearings before moving on. Bellamy was standing outside his tent with his arms crossed. He gave him a single nod of acknowledgement and then made his way across the centre of camp and up the ramp to where he stood.

"You're doing the right thing," he reassured him.

There were no words left within him to respond. He stumbled down the ramp, crossed the camp and walked out the heavily guarded gate, all the while knowing it would be for the last time. He would never return to this place, never see her again. It was for the best, he reminded himself, but somewhere along the way his resolve dissipated. He barely made it past the guards at the gate before he began to run.

oOo

Three months later…

oOo

Whatever his earlier resolutions might have been, they didn't last long when faced with the reality of living the rest of his days without her. Instead he reached a compromise - watch her from afar but never interfere. It had worked reasonably well so far. Though the ache of missing her was something he had yet to become accustomed to, watching her from the treetops while she ventured through the forest acted as a balm of sorts.

She'd been back to his cave countless times. The first time she was weak, her strength not yet regained. She stumbled over rocks and moved more slowly than usual. It was damn near impossible to watch her and not try to help, but he kept his promise and stayed away. The disbelief and disappointment on her face were clear, even from such a distance. She couldn't understand why he'd left. Perhaps she simply hadn't believed it until that moment. Mystified, she'd turned round and slowly retreated to her camp.

It was several more weeks before she returned, this time stomping angrily through the forest, having no desire to be quiet or subtle.

"Lincoln! Where are you?!" she'd shouted into the trees.

He'd watched from his spot, hidden amongst the foliage, and bit his tongue until he tasted blood to keep from calling out to her. It was better this way he reminded himself, though the resolution rung hollow.

She'd returned to his cave periodically ever since, sometimes going in, sometimes studying the ground around the entrance for signs of entry. Today she was nowhere. He'd searched all the places she might possibly be – his cave, the grove where the butterflies nested, her camp, the river. She was like a ghost, simply vanished from the earth.

He quelled the note of panic in his gut and made his way back to the grove. The butterflies clung to the trees, their luminescent wings fluttering lazily back and forth. His feet paced around the small space while he searched for clues. She'd been there not long ago, he was certain of it, but where had she gone since? Had the mountain men taken her? Had she been discovered by the Reapers? A shudder travelled down his spine and his resolve hardened. If anyone had dared lay a hand on her he would…

A spear cut through the air with a sharp whistle and buried itself deep into the dirt next to his foot. He jumped, turning just in time to collide full force with a darkly clad figure. The air was knocked out of his lungs by the force of the collision and then again when his back hit the ground. Instinct kicked in after that. He shifted his weight enough to slip a dagger from his sleeve and roll his attacker onto their back. He held them tight with an arm at their throat and raised his dagger for the killing blow.

Those eyes. Green like the ocean.

Horrified, he reared up and jerked the mask off his attacker's face. She lay beneath him, out of breath and grinning, with a determined gleam in her eye.

"What are you doing?" he demanded, furious. "I nearly killed you."

"But you didn't," she replied with a teasing lift of her brow. "So this is what it takes to get you to talk to me?"

He sighed heavily and lifted himself off of her. This was dangerous. He shouldn't be here with her, especially not this close. The blood was humming through his veins like wildfire. Shoving his dagger back into its sheath he turned to go, but she grabbed his arm to stop him.

"Lincoln, wait! So that's it? You don't have anything to say to me?" Her voice sounded small, hurt. He closed his eyes and bowed his head, searching for whatever shred of resistance he had left.

"I've been wondering where you were for months. You just left! You didn't even say good-bye! Did I do something wrong? My brother… did he-?"

He held out for as long as he could, but the crack in her voice worked its way past all of his defences. He couldn't fight this. What he felt for her went beyond possession or affection. Turning slowly, he allowed himself to look upon the face he'd dreamt of for weeks on end. Her eyes were filled with questions and doubts and shone with unshed tears.

"I'm sorry," he breathed before his lips descended to hers. His hands cupped her face ever so gently, holding her fast while he reminded himself what it was like to kiss her. He'd missed her lips and the way they so gently caressed his own.

He kissed her until they were out of breath and then pulled her close, wrapping his arms tightly around her.

"I missed you," she whispered, even as her fist lightly punched his chest. "Promise me you'll never leave like that again."

His hand cupped the back of her head, gently stroking her chestnut brown hair.

"I promise," he vowed. "So long as you promise not to take any more drastic measures."

"I promise." He smiled at that and she pulled away to link her arm with his. "Come on, let's go back to camp. I want to talk to my brother before we go."

"Go?" he asked with a curious tilt of his head.

"I'm going with you," she said plainly, arching her brow in challenge. "No one decides my fate except me. I've had enough of other people trying to control my life. I want this and I want you. Is that so difficult to understand?"

"No," he replied as his lips pulled back into a smile. "It's not so difficult at all."

Author's Note: This played a bit like an episode in my head. I'm still trying to figure out the right characterization for these two, so any thoughts or suggestions would be much appreciated!

Cheers,

Langus