Sand, white, meets white sky. Blinded by bright lights on the horizon, Raven Reyes unlocks her helmet and pulls it over her head. She notices first the blood, then the throbbing, and at last her shattered mask. She opens the hatch.
How long has she been unconscious?
She breathes in dry air, fresh and a little spicy. Sweat trickles down the inside of the pressure suit. She blinks. The pod's temperature rises in the sun. She could step out, but her suit stops her. She supposes she could remove it. She blinks again, feels the breath expanding and then leaving her chest. She finds clamps and zips. And pain. At last, she casts the suit out the hatch.
Her head hurts. Where is she? She had a job. A job. The radio.
"This is Raven Reyes. I'm from Mecha Station. I'm transmitting from the ground. I'm alive. Please, you need to get Abby Griffin. Doctor Abby Griffin. Now."
Static.
She repeats herself, more urgently, as if that will push her voice through the ether, but no. No response. No hundred. No three hundred. Her mission has failed. Her location—the instruments don't work—unknown. A desert. Sand, white sand, from here to the horizon, where there are blinding suns, regularly spaced.
Her stomach growls—in her rush, she's neglected to bring snacks. Or water. Water, the suit holds a water pouch. As she touches down, pain stabs her hip, nausea and dizziness strike hard, and she crumples to earth. Abby passes through her mind, Abby, before her eyes close again, Abby's been floated.
Abby brings her water, tipping a little at a time between Raven's painful, parched lips. Abby tends to the wound on her head. Abby lays a cool hand on her face. Abby—
—is a tiny sand man?
Raven wakes in a gauzy tent, small, dark, on a mat in a corner. The furnishings are spare but homey. A table, a bench, the pallet she's lying on. The tiny sand man turns around, now without the goggles or head covering. A girl. A slight sand girl, about Raven's own age, with Abby's eyes.
Abby, who's been floated. "Abby?"
The girl looks at Raven then, and extends a small chunk of—food? Which Raven takes, sniffs and begins to nibble, slowly.
"Rey," says the girl.
"Raven," says Raven. "Thank you."
Pain wakes her. The throbbing in her head, and more in her hip, make the gears in her mind slip, grind, stop. She uses her most reliable manner of refocusing away from pain, trigonometry.
The angle between the twelve and the one on an analog chronometer is thirty degrees. The angle between each minute mark is six degrees. That angle, over a distance of, say, 600 kilometers, could make a difference of…
Raven's brain is still scrambled from her landing. How far away from the target did she land? In which direction? How can she get to the hundred? And more importantly, how can she contact the Ark?
The sand girl… Rey… doesn't say much as she wraps her head for the wasteland. She turns at the flap of the tent.
"I'm going back to your ship." And she leaves Raven alone.
How can she get to the hundred? To Clarke, Abby's daughter… to tell her—what? that Abby loves her, that Abby's been floated—? No. First things first. Contact the Ark. Radio.
She sits up, head whanging, nausea threatening, and after several moments opens her eyes. When the room settles around her, one object stands out.
The radio. Her radio. Raven's radio, ripped from the ship. Raven's ancient radio, trailing red and black wires. It'll need power, obviously, an antenna, probably, and who knows how much is damaged on the inside, but it's a good start. She stands. And collapses.
She's still conscious. That's something, but her leg won't support her. It's like something is blocking the signal from her brain to her leg. It's not an ache exactly, it just doesn't register. An absence. Tenderness flares in her hip, just bruises and inflamed muscles. The absence lies below the knee—Who knows how much is damaged on the inside?
Abby would be so disappointed. Would be—if she weren't also missing. Or dead.
She crawls to the radio, then drags it back to the bed. Two puzzles to solve. She rests a little, tests her leg again, and thinks about what she needs, if not to fix her leg, to make it functional. As usual, Raven sucks it up. She needs tools.
Finn Collins, lover, brother, mother and father, once saw hunger in her face, and although he was not well-fed either, he broke his biscuit in two and held out half to her. Watching him, later, being taken to Lockup—
"Good news!" Rey's return startles Raven. Rey holds up Raven's toolbox scavenged from the pod and a second pair of goggles, smiling and waggling her eyebrows. In her other hand she's dragging a large sack. Desert Santa Claus, thinks Raven.
"Bad news," Raven grouses, "Radio's fried, and so's my leg."
Rey's shoulders drop, but she brings Raven the toolbox.
"What else is in that magic bag?—Can I use your stick?"
Rey hands over her staff without a second thought.
Raven pulls herself to standing and hops over to the table. Rey follows with the toolbox and the radio.
"I need a—
" —power supply? Antenna?" says Rey, digging in her bag. She produces wire and several sizes of batteries.
Raven looks up from the radio. Rey's eyes are green, greenish, not brown. Raven looks down, covers, recovers.
Wait, Abby's eyes are brown. Aren't they? Weren't they? What the fuck is wrong?
She needs to start over. She needs to fix the radio.
Raven rummages through her toolbox and pulls out a small screwdriver. She removes the base of the radio. A quick examination shows her what she needs to do. A shadow blocks her view for a moment, and the solder, soldering iron, and a power source appear by her elbow. Raven looks up. Rey nods, smiling.
Raven makes the repairs while Rey rigs an antenna.
"Wanna connect it?" offers Raven.
Rey nods, grinning, and plugs it in.
"This is Raven Reyes. I'm from Mecha Station. I'm transmitting from the ground. I'm alive. Please, you need to get Abby Griffin. Doctor Abby Griffin. Now."
Nothing.
"You are Rey-yes?" Rey giggles.
"Yes. Raven Reyes." She tries again. And this time faint clicks and pauses tickle the back of her mind. She decodes it.
"Monty Green, of Farm Station. Also on the ground. Coordinates? Anyone with you?"
"Coordinates?" Raven asks Rey. Rey shrugs.
Raven digs into the magic bag and finds the device she's looking for. She unscrews the cover, removes a large insect, and finds the broken places. The kind she finds easy to fix. She takes a reading on her location.
When she has the coordinates, she radios them back to Monty, and he sends her his.
"And tell Clarke—Clarke Griffin—that I'm sorry—and that Abby would be here if she could."
"10-4," comes back.
"Is that a compass?" Raven plucks it from Rey's belt.
"Yes, but—" Rey starts to take it back.
"Can I have it?" Raven keeps her hand on the compass. Rey's strength makes Raven's arm tremble.
"No. I need it."
"Can I… use it?"
Rey considers a few moments, then withdraws her hand.
"I'll pay you back, I promise. I can fix stuff," Raven says.
"You already did," Rey jangles the bag, then shrugs, "And I can fix stuff," and she disappears through the flap.
"Your stick?" Raven calls after her.
"It's a staff. You use it for now. I can handle myself," Rey calls back.
Temperatures in the desert drop at night, and Raven rouses when Rey drapes a fur over her. Rey retreats to another spot in the tent, but her breath betrays her discomfort.
"Don't be an ass. There's room under this fur, c'mon."
And Rey crawls in. But Rey—somehow—shares a fur without making any kind of contact. Even if Raven moves closer, seeking heat, Rey seems to have a cushion of air around her, no matter what. After a while, Raven gives up, the bedding warms up, and Raven succumbs to sleep.
Raven wakes first. Her leg is impossibly situated, her back cramped as a result. She breathes deeply until it eases, then attempts to slide out of the bed without disturbing her host.
Rey is on her feet, defensive, before Raven can even start to rise.
"Whoa, nothing, I'm doing nothing, just standing up!"
Raven's heart races, spurred by Rey's game face. Adrenaline has always focused her. It's part of what made her a good Zero-G mechanic.
"You wanna give a girl a hand up?"
Rey reaches for her without pause, takes her wrist, and Raven stands suddenly. Despite Rey's flinch, Raven holds fast to Rey's wrist and grips her shoulder with the other hand.
They face each other, no more than a thumb's length apart. Raven grins a lopsided grin. Rey's eyes crinkle.
"This! Where'd you get this sleeve stuff? Can I have it? Use it? I'll pay you back—"
And now Rey laughs out loud.
"I just asked you for the shirt off your back, didn't I?" And Raven laughs, too, a long laugh and a deep one, a laugh laughed by two who haven't in a long time.
"Yes. You did, and yes, you can have it." Rey's smile—or is it the rising sun—warms Raven. She releases Rey, takes the staff, and hops to the low bench. Rey removes her arm wrapping, rolling it as she goes, then hands the roll to Raven. Raven wraps her knee, not too tight, but tight enough that the joint will stay straight and support her weight.
"Do you need—?" Rey starts working on the other sleeve, Raven shakes her head.
"No, this is good. It's good. Plus that's a great look on you."
Rey turns away. "You need a staff of your own. Wait here."
"Like I'm going anywhere fast."
Rey ducks out the flap, leaving Raven smiling.
Not too much later, Rey returns with a staff, maybe nicer than the one she carries, handles wrapped already, with a padded crossbar on the top. She holds it out to Raven.
Raven gets a funny look on her face, then takes it, and tries it out.
"Pretty good," she says.
Rey beams. "Pretty good? It's good. Damn good."
When Rey returns from another trip to the pod, Raven meets her outside the tent. Rey pulls a sledge piled high with salvage.
"Batteries, fuel, electronics, solar collectors, your little grandma has a bit of everything. Gold foil! Gold. Foil." Rey's eyes are bright.
"Is this how you got me to your tent?"
"Yes."
"How did you keep me on it?"
"I'm good with rope."
"Ah," says Raven, "You use a sledge for everything?"
Rey nods. "I used to have a quad. Until it ran out of fuel. Engine's pretty badly gunked up."
"Still have it? Bet I can make a fuel cell with the hydrazine. If I don't blow it up first." Raven grins.
"I do still have it." Rey smiles. Then she stops suddenly, her face blanking, sinking to her knees and looking at the night sky. "Ohhh. So… many…"
Raven follows her gaze. She's never seen a meteor shower like this. Rey crumples to earth.
"Rey? Rey! Rey, what's wrong?" Rey opens her eyes, opens and closes her mouth.
Raven traces the meteors to a bright point in the sky. The Ark. And the meteors—the three hundred.
"They killed them for the oxygen," says Raven. "Something's wrong with our life support systems after orbiting for a century."
"Three hundred and twenty people," says Rey.
Raven helps her up and brings her some water. "I killed them. By failing to contact them."
Rey motions to be quiet. They sit side by side in silence for a while, until the first rays of sunrise silhouette them against the tent.
"Rey."
Rey tips her head.
"That night. When I came down. Did you—feel—someone else?"
Rey looks down, concentrating. "Abby? Is she your wife? You called for her in the night."
"What—No. No! No, she's my—" What? Doctor? Councillor? Partner in crime? "Friend."
"I felt... fear, lots of fear, but not death." Rey is still looking at the sand. "Images—feelings—just come to me."
Images of Abby, feelings, just come to Raven. Abby. Who's maybe not been floated.
Rey looks into Raven's eyes, takes her hand, squeezes it for a moment, then withdraws.
Pink sky blushes across their faces.
Abby paces as Raven works. Abby can never hide from Raven, because Raven—always sees through her. Clarke is missing. Clarke's signal is missing. Abby's chill is missing, with good reason. How can you know a thing is gone if you never knew it existed? Raven knows the sensation and control in her lower leg is gone now, because she's had sensation and control, of her leg anyway, for nineteen years. But Abby's absence—she never knew what she felt until Abby was missing. But without Abby, without being able to contact Abby—even if she is alive—Raven senses an unfinished mission. Another unfinished mission—so many, so many gone—
Raven sleeps through the day. When she wakes, she moves to the flap and looks for Rey. At first she doesn't see her. Dusk has greyed everything out, but Raven goes a little apart from the doorway and turns in a small circle. She spies the sand girl about twenty meters away. Another twenty meters beyond stands another tent.
Rey raises her hand. Raven crutches to her.
Rey takes Raven's hand, her grin lopsided. "C'mon. Look!" Rey tugs a little but measures her pace to Raven's, drawing her toward the second tent. She flips back the flap, revealing, gleaming in the lamplight, the dead quad. Engine parts lie like a diagram on a rug beside it.
The smells of hydrocarbons and rust quicken Raven's blood. Her breath, however, catches. Sunset and torchlight mask her blush.
"Can I see your tools?"
Raven peeks up to check Rey's expression. Rey quivers like a puppy learning to stay. She flips the latches of the bright red toolbox and reveals her toys. Wrenches of all sizes— English and Metric— screwdrivers— Phillips, slotted, Torx, square, Allen, Clutch. Sockets. Ratchets.
Raven's mouth opens and closes.
It starts slow.
Rey pulls up a stool and invites Raven to sit down. She pours solvent for two and plates a tray of gunked nuts for starters. Rey produces a brush with a flourish, and Raven digs in.
They spend the evening cleaning parts with a dumbed-down version of hydrazine and century-old toothbrushes. No wire brushes, or they'd go to hell with the first spark.
"Like it? I knew I was saving this for someone special."
Raven helps clear when they are finished, laying out the parts just as they were when she arrived. Something about the order, something about the improbably clean environment, something about getting up to her elbows in an engine again makes Raven rosy and warm. Rey's eyes sparkle as she hands over a ratchet and a deep socket.
Raven's never done this with someone like Rey. She barely knows her and yet— Raven just plunges in. And it's smooth, like the inside of the cylinders she's just lubed, and she's strong, like the bearings Rey's just installed, and they just fit— exactly as a head gasket.
They work in tandem with each other, each letting the other take the lead. Raven sits back, satisfied, when the pistons and rods are back together. Rey grins and raises her eyebrows as she starts on the distributor. When the one is stuck, the other uses her different strengths to continue moving through the puzzle. Raven doesn't need words to communicate with Rey. The give and take keeps going and going and going until dawn warms their chilled skin to the temperature of their hearts.
"How are you with organic chemistry?" asks Raven.
Rey crooks her mouth but shakes her head.
Raven goes back to the tent and sinks into her thinking place. She dives into the microscopic world of hydrocarbons, combining and catalyzing and recombining, and jolts up with a tentative solution to the fuel problem. Together they put it into action.
Rey twists wires together to start the engine. It clicks a few times, coughs, and dies. The girls trade eyerolls. Raven has to try for herself. The engine coughs and sputters. Rey shows her what to kick and what to twist and how far, and Raven twists again, murderous. And the engine ignites.
Raven and Rey look into each other's eyes until they can't any longer.
The engine noise settles out into a more consistent rumble.
Rey nods solemnly, then bursts into giggles and whoops. They both do.
"Wanna ride?" Rey asks Raven.
Raven nods like a girl who's been given her first screwdriver, and they have to work out a way to get her on the thing. The way the midday desert air feels at sixty klicks—versus how it does at rest—exhilarates Raven. She squeezes Rey tight as they make a wide one-eighty. Rey looks back and leans into the turn making it tighter, making her slide closer into Raven.
Once they've brought the quad back to the tent, after their laughter has subsided, Raven drapes an arm over Rey's shoulder—and Rey lets her—and boldly goes, "Soooo…. will you drive me? To my people?"
It takes a couple more days to make enough fuel for the trip—which Raven's worked out to be somewhere around four hundred eighty-something klicks—and a couple more to round up enough food and water and other supplies.
Raven rigs the quad with the radio and a large antenna. She kluges a jolly roger banner onto the antenna. Rey looks confused but grins anyway. They sledge up and go.
Fully laden, the vehicle doesn't go all that fast, but it beats walking. Or stumping.
On the third day, the forest rises up in front of them, deep and grey and foggy. Rey can't stop talking about the green. Moisture in the air makes Rey sneeze, but the humidity lets Raven breathe more easily. She contacts Monty when they stop, the signal getting clearer.
Rey stops by a river. Its greens and blues cause Raven to tear up.
This is the Earth she'd always thought of and yearned for from the Ark. The desert seems somehow extraterrestrial to her, but woods and rivers were the story-food of her young life—her life with Finn—the stories he'd read to her.
In just a short while she'll see Finn.
But will she ever see Abby?
Rey comes up behind her and wraps an arm around her. Raven turns and returns the embrace, their faces sliding together. Raven places a kiss on Rey's cheek, an offering maybe, an invitation? But maybe she's offered too many invitations lately. Maybe—
"Oh," Rey pulls away. "Oh—I—you—" She creases her forehead.
And Raven, "No—I—didn't mean—" Raven envisions hobbling the rest of the way, assuming Rey will let her take the compass.
They eat in silence, the flow of the river filling their ears.
They share a fur again, the mysterious cushion of air between them, their backs toward each other, until Raven speaks.
"Finn fed me and cared for me while my mother—while my mother traded my rations for her liquor. He's my boyfriend and my family and he's with my people."
Rey turns and narrows the air between them. "You don't really sound like you're ready to see him."
"Mmmm," says Raven. "And Abby, our doctor and councillor, a woman twice my age, she may be up there still. Maybe they'll send her down. And I—"
"You want to see her."
"Mmmm."
"And me?"
"I don't know, Rey." Raven turns to face her. "You saved my life. I'm not sure I can have normal feelings about you after that."
"I like you, Raven Rey Yes. I like having you around. Before, I was invisible. And now, I see you, and I see me. And thinking of going back and not having you—" She blinks several times.
Raven takes Rey's jaw in her hand and starts to lean in, but Rey smiles her crooked smile and shakes her head.
"I like you very much, Raven Rey Yes. But I don't like that." She wrinkles her nose.
"Oh. Well. That's awkward," says Raven, "but it does at least relieve some of my dilemma."
"Well. That is a relief. Glad I could be of service." Rey crinkles her eyes.
"Shut up and go to sleep," says Raven.
Rey turns, pulling Raven's arm around her as she does.
They have to stop when Exodus crashes.
The ground jolts and trembles beneath them. Rey manages to pull up short, and the sledge they're pulling smacks into the rear tires. Rey's ropes hold. Raven holds Rey, keeping her from falling off the quad.
"Earthquake?" says Raven.
Rey shakes her head. "More Sky People. More deaths. And so much fear," she gasps.
"Can you tell—?"
Rey shakes her head again.
"We're stopping here. You stay where you are, and I'll make camp."
Rey keeps Raven from leaving. "Abby might be gone. She might not."
"I know that. I'm handling it," Raven snaps.
Rey breathes slowly in through her nose, pauses, then breathes twice as slowly out through her mouth. No stranger to trauma, Raven synchronizes with her.
After a few minutes, Rey turns halfway around and looks Raven in the eyes.
"It feels close. Do you want to go?"
Raven blanches, then nods. As Rey drives, Raven tries to imagine what a crashed dropship could look like. Or a hundred or more bodies. Or how large the debris field could be. Physics makes dread so much more manageable. Depending on the speed and angle of impact, it could be—
And the image—beautiful and dreadful—of the culled bodies, shooting stars as they hit the atmosphere presses its way front and center—
And the image, imagined, of bodies scattered, bodies possibly of people she knew, scattered over a widening field, spurs the release of more adrenaline. How, with her leg in this condition, can they bury the dead?
Raven tightens her grip on Rey. The sledge has been bumping over rocks and occasional stumps since they left the sand. They'll need to outfit it with wheels soon, even though it has become clear that they are on some sort of animal track— horses, maybe. Rey slows, then stops.
"You okay?" they say simultaneously.
"You first," says Raven.
"Yeah, just trying to sense which way. You?"
"They won't be stinking quite yet, but… there could be a lot of bodies to bury."
"We'll check for Abby first, then burn them. There will be tons of salvage, probably fuel. Need to get wheels on this thing, too. Stock up."
Raven rests her forehead on Rey's back. "Yeah, I was just thinking that." Raven leans to the side and vomits. "Sorry."
"You missed my boots," Rey shrugs. "We could skip it."
Raven considers. On one hand, the detour they've already made has depleted their fuel and supplies. On the other, going to the crash site will be unpleasant—face it, Reyes, going to the crash site will be horrifying—beyond horrifying. And if Abby is there—. Raven swallows. Cold drops through her body. It takes her a minute to realize she's already decided.
"I have to know."
"I know."
The crash site brings up the bile again. A hundred or so bodies, many thousands of hunks of metal, chairs, seat belts, bags of belongings, all dusted with ash. There's very little blood. The parachutes haven't deployed, so they probably hit terminal velocity far above the surface.
They do find a cart with reasonably sized wheels, one of them thrown far across the field from the others. Focusing on the next step, one step at a time, makes the coming tasks recede a little, so they unload the sledge and remake it into a cart. Raven can sense Rey itching to start salvaging, but they use the quad and cart to pile the bodies together, one by one. Because they can't lift them, they build a pyre around them and hope the fuel will cremate the dead.
Abby is not among them.
"Stand way over there while I'm spreading the fuel. I don't want to blow you up, too."
"Don't be an ass. I'll help you," says Rey. "If you blow yourself up, I…"
"Suit yourself."
When Raven comes up with a safe—safe-ish—way to spread the fuel over the pyre, she shows Rey, and together they spread it, and together they work out a way to ignite the lot without, hopefully, including themselves.
Abby is not among them. Abby is not among them. Abby is not among them.
Raven compiles a list of the names of the dead, many she knew from Mecha. They run a cable as far as possible away from the pyre.
"Welcome home, bitches," she says, "May we meet again." Rey's eyes widen, she stifles a snort, then touches the leads to a battery to fire up the barbie, which works mostly as hoped—score—then they take turns reading the names aloud. The fire itself takes their breath away with its mass and hunger for oxygen, so by the end of the list, they are gasping and shouting and a little punchy. Then silence— of a kind— hits hard.
The pyre produces a column of black smoke a mile high. Smells of roasting flesh spread through the woods. Raven wraps her mouth and nose with somebody's shirt she found in the wreckage. They stand with reverence as long as they can stand, but the smoke and the fuel and the flesh finally drive them to drive on.
They mark the place with the list of names, record the coordinates, load up the sledge-cart, and head back to the track. Raven prays, in her way, that the fire doesn't spread, but she can't stay another minute. Rey hasn't had much to say.
Dark thickens. Rey stops a little off the track, not too far from the river. Raven sets up camp in silence. They still have some salt meat and hardtack from the desert trader, and there are some rations from the Ark. Raven decides she's had enough fire for the day and serves herself and Rey. Raven finds the hardtack a match for her molars, but she notices Rey gnawing on it like a rodent. It works. Chewing and gnawing help dissipate Raven's tension.
"I kept waiting," Rey finally says.
Raven can't see her face, but she looks toward Rey's eyes anyway.
"It's been years. I think—I think now—they were afraid of my—difference. My knack.
"My family left me—they said—to keep me safe until they could come back for me. So I waited. Day after day, the same. The same terrain, the same labor, the same trading, the same emptiness. Nothing."
As the last syllable ends, the not-quite quiet of the forest at night fills the air between them. Raven goes to her.
"Then I dropped out of the sky," Raven says softly. "It ain't been the same, since. Like it? Made it special, just for you."
"You kinda actually did."
"You survived. In that shithole. By yourself," says Raven.
"That was my home!" Rey says, aghast, then she catches herself. She can't see, but listens for, the wheels turning in Raven's mind, slower than usual, but then, it involves people this time, not numbers, not problems to solve, not machines. Rey swallows and waits for it.
"You said was."
Raven calculates the distance between Monty's location and hers. She radios that she'll be arriving in a few hours.
Not once has she mentioned Rey.
They break camp in silence. But when Raven stops suddenly, her breath sharp, Rey turns toward her and tips her head.
"Sit down for a minute. We should have built you a brace." Rey removes her other sleeve, rolling it as she goes. "Raven, sit down."
Raven clutches her crutch. She remains standing, jaw clenched, eyes screwed shut. She shakes her head. Words come out under her breath.
"I'm sorry, I couldn't hear what you said."
Walking, riding, with this damage inside her, has inflamed the spot in Raven's spine where all the messages from her brain are detained. She's filled to the brim with unanswered messages—like her cries for attention as an infant—and icy shame washes down the inside of her chest. She can't look at Rey.
"Don't take care of me. I'm not worth it."
"Now you tell me. All this taking care of you so far is gone to waste, is it?"
This tack isn't helping. Rey tries another.
Rey leads Raven by the hand to a fallen tree and sits her down. Rey takes the bandage off Raven's knee, rolling it as she goes. She rolls it back on, a little tighter this time, then rolls on the other layer.
"Ge smak daun, gyon op nodoteim."
Raven looks at her.
Rey waits for more response. There is none. She relents.
"Roughly, 'fall down seven times, get up eight.'" Rey hands Raven her staff. "Get up."
Raven does.
"Get back on the quad."
Raven does.
Pain still sears her hip, sacrum, spine. Pain still travels up to her opposite shoulder. Pain makes her sweat. But the chill is gone. She removes her jacket.
And drapes it on Rey.
Raven navigates. The have to go off the horse track, and although the quad has no difficulty, their trailer-sledge suffers. It's slow going. They pause often for location readings. Other than the most necessary communication, Raven remains silent.
Gossip over Morse Code is impossible. Raven has no idea what the situation is at camp. She's going to fix that radio so it works properly, first thing. So she can contact Abby. Assuming Abby is alive.
And what about Finn? Assuming Finn is alive?
The quad stops, shaking Raven back to the present.
"Do your people do anything besides kill each other? I suppose I'm lucky to be alive, spending all this time with one of you." says Rey. She breathes in slowly, holds it, then breathes out more slowly. Her trembling rattles Raven.
"What—"
Rey shakes her head, then, "Words, words, words—Farm, Factory, Mecha—" Rey points in different directions. She turns to Raven with a question in her eyes.
"The Ark," Raven whispers. "Here?" She tightens her grip on Rey, but Rey shrugs her off.
A hole opens up in Raven's chest. She presses a hand to her sternum to make sure it's all in her head.
Rey revs up the quad and continues. Raven holds tight to the grab bar behind her. It hurts, but—she's making some sort of peace with her own pain—and the thought of increasing Rey's makes her stomach roil.
Raven rouses when Rey turns off course, when she turns toward the increasing smell of burning hydrocarbons. The fuck? Rey sniffs the air, turns her head a little right, a little left. She closes her eyes, breathes in; opens her eyes, breathes out. Rey reaches back and pulls Raven's hands back around her waist, then goes, altering course slightly.
Raven barely hears Rey over the engine. "Mecha. She came down on Mecha."
"Mecha was my home," Raven struggles to be heard.
"I know," Rey's voice sounds in Raven's head.
They break into a clearing. What's left of Mecha Station looms up in front of them. Raven drops her focus and finds the lake beside it. Someone climbs up the slope from the lake. Abby.
Raven's never seen Abby in sunlight. Gold glints in her hair. Raven's never seen Abby at a distance. She's never seen her against the backdrop of the lake and sky. Raven knows Abby's gait, but—
Raven gapes for a moment. Rey gets off the quad and helps Raven dismount.
"Abby?" she croaks.
Raven makes the tiniest nods, a lot of them.
Raven starts crutching toward Abby. She stumbles once, then continues. Rey hangs back by the quad.
"Abby!" Raven calls. "Abby!"
Abby looks her way. She stops short. "Raven?" Abby runs toward them. "Your leg. Are you okay?"
"You're bleeding," says Raven.
"Raven, Honey." Abby holds Raven's face in both her hands.
Abby's eyes are brown. Brown— with flecks of gold, like her hair in sunlight. Her hands are gentle, careful. Creases mark her forehead, then smooth. Smile lines replace them, lines around her mouth, around her eyes. Brown eyes with flecks of gold, eyes Raven never thought she'd see again. Abby.
Abby and Raven simply look into each other's eyes for what seems like a very long time.
Then Abby draws Raven into an embrace. Raven flashes on the embrace they shared before Raven left without her. Raven surrenders. She melds into Abby's softness, hiding her wet eyes in Abby's shoulder. She matches Abby's breaths, until she can't, her own breath shuddering.
Abby holds her tight, stroking her back.
At last, Raven manages to whisper, "I thought you were dead. I tried to contact you, I did. I haven't—haven't—"
"I haven't stopped thinking about you since I saw you last," says Abby. "I've been talking to you in my head all this time. I have to find Clarke. But I don't want go without you."
Relief floods Raven. "I'm not going without you."
Abby looks up, seeing Rey, seeing Raven's jacket on Rey. "Introduce me?"
They move to the quad, Abby supporting Raven's elbow.
"Abby, this is Rey. She—saved my life. She—helped me get to you."
Abby's eyes crinkle, and she extends her hand. "So glad you did. Good to meet you."
Rey nods and grips Abby's forearm. "Raven—she's my Friend."
Abby can't help herself. "Your—girlfriend?"
Rey's blush matches the jacket. "I—no. But I've never had a friend before, so she's special."
"I'm awesome," says Raven, shaking inside, wondering how to get out of this situation. Sometimes the only way out is through.
"Rey, are you—okay with this?" Raven looks from Rey to Abby.
Rey tips her head to the side, a grin sneaking out.
"Did you notice, Raven Rey Yes, I made this possible?"
"Don't be an ass, Rey No Last Name."
"Rey kom Sankru."
"Pleased to meet you," says Rey with a grin. They grasp each other's forearms and lean their heads together.
"You should kiss the girl," Rey whispers.
"You think so?" says Raven. She smiles, pulls away, and turns toward Abby.
"She thinks I should kiss you. What do you think?"
"I've been thinking you should kiss me since you got here."
Raven turns toward Abby, and— just Abby. The lake, the sky, the woods, the ship, the quad, everything, even Rey fades. Abby takes her hand, and they move close to each other. Abby brings her other hand to Raven's jaw, her thumb stroking her cheek. Raven looks again into Abby's eyes, blinks, glances at her lips, and back at her eyes. Abby's eyes hold wonder, hope, anticipation. Abby moves toward her, but pauses, letting Raven close the gap.
Their lips meet.
Raven sinks into the embrace and drinks of Abby. The well inside her begins to fill after sitting empty for so long. Hope stoppers that hole in her chest, and she's warm, so warm. Abby responds. Abby responds like Raven never allowed herself to imagine, opening, softening, welcoming— little touches on her face, her scalp, strokes across her back, pressure on her forearm just below the elbow. Kisses, little kisses, deep kisses, kisses on their lips, on their cheeks, on their foreheads, each kiss saying, "I missed you," "I want you," "I never imagined—"
"Um—I'm still here," Rey calls. "Want to ride, Abby? We can make room. Where are we going?"
Abby breaks the kiss. Raven loves the pink across her cheeks. She takes her sleeve and dries Abby's lips, then her own. They turn back to the quad.
"We need to go to Alpha Station. The coordinates are here." Abby hands a device to Rey.
"Excuse me, I'm the navigator," says Raven, taking the device.
The pain recedes a little when Raven is sandwiched between the two women she loves, heading toward their new home, all engines purring.