Author's Note & Disclaimer: As always, this is a work of fan fiction. One shot pre-couple #kabby because I'm watching Season 1 and can't help myself. Let me know if you like my writing style and maybe I'll write some more. :) #mwah
With the bomb's explosion still ringing in his ears, Marcus had only one thought.
He could've just said he'd say the Blessing at the departure of the Exodus ship. It was four lines. Four damn lines to give his mother a moment's happiness.
No one would've thought less of him. The Traveler's Blessing might not be invoked as much as in the early days and the more rational among them had given up praying a generation ago, but Jaha, Abby and the rest knew who his mother was. They wouldn't have begrudged him the pageantry of giving his mother a glimmer of hope…hope that he still believed the old words, that he was still the little boy who had looked down at the blue-green Earth with wonder, asking his mother,
We'll go back, someday, won't we?
She had smiled and kissed the top of his head, Yes, Marcus, we will.
But, stubborn as always, he told her he couldn't remember the words.
Of course, he did. They were written on his soul. She'd made sure of that. But he'd spent years disentangling himself from his mother's shadow and all her religious nonsense. Vera was a relic of their past, clinging to foolish hope when she should be focused on survival.
When he was a child, he believed it all. He believed that good conquers evil and that hope conquers despair. He remembers telling Abby this when they were nine.
Back then, she wore her brown hair in two braids instead of one and already knew every element on the periodic table. Her scientist-mother and engineer-father would never let her believe in Vera's rhetoric but still, she came down to the tree after services one afternoon, after the others had all gone, pulling herself up to sit on the edge of the sturdy table, legs dangling over the edge, as she watched Marcus water the green tree's roots diligently.
Does your mother really believe that she'll be able to plant that on Earth someday? Abby had asked him, curious.
Not her specifically. But one of our people, yes. Marcus answered, as he set the pitcher of water aside.
But it'll be generations before any of us get to the ground. She continued, not cruelly, but with that same tone that she would retain as she grew older, the blunt facts speaking for themselves and cutting to the heart of the matter. The tree will die before then. It's not made for reprocessed water and stale air.
It won't die. Marcus stated stubbornly.
Marcus, you know that's not true…Abby tipped her head, one of her braids falling over her shoulder. Your scores in Botany were as high as mine. Even if it does die… And what does it represent?
Hope. Marcus had answered softly, answering her cynicism with sentimentality. Because he believed it. Because he was still a child and the realities of life on a crippled, dying Ark weren't yet fully revealed to him. Because he hadn't yet learned that hope doesn't produce air where there is none. Or mercy where mercy cannot be allowed.
First, with Jake—he acted so quickly, so recklessly. None of them had time to think of a better way before he might have destroyed them all with his foolish crusade for truth. Didn't he understand? There was no place for truth or hope on this Ark.
Only blunt facts.
Abby understood that once. But lately, whether in penance for what happened to Jake or because she couldn't face the possibility of losing Clarke, she'd given herself over to hope, in many ways worse than his mother…for his mother's influence had been fading for some time, her religious nonsense banished to a corner room, harmless in its quiet uselessness. But Abby's hope was dangerous and her reckless actions had forced his hand twice. He'd almost floated her. Twice.
But how is that possible? How could you murder Abby? His younger self had awakened again, interrogating him, haunting his dreams with second guesses, asking questions that were better left unanswered. Before the Culling, everything made sense. Everything was in order. But now…
The ringing in his ears continued. He was bleeding. He felt the hot, sticky trails running down his cheek. And all was in a haze. The smoke in the room lingered, the noise and moans of the injured slowly joining the ringing, his mother dying in his arms.
His mother, dying.
Suddenly frantic, he glanced up, searching, looking for a familiar face, sudden need silently calling out for the one person who might fix this. Abby.
She was there, her eyes already finding his in the bomb-blasted room. Without words, without question, without past mistakes giving her steps any hesitation, she came to him. Vera's breath caught jaggedly, failing quickly.
Marcus watched Abby's face expectantly, heart soon breaking on the stark hopelessness he saw color her features as she examined Vera's injuries. She met his gaze once more but could offer nothing.
I'm so sorry, Marcus…
Abby didn't say the words. She didn't need to. More than that, she didn't want to. Despite their recent antagonism, the visible pain in Marcus's expression tore at her soul. And she was reminded of the boy she used to know, who spoke of hope as if it were a sure thing. Her eyes flickered on the sudden recognition as he held her gaze for a long moment, before turning back to the dying woman.
Abby rose slowly, giving him those final moments alone with his mother. Marcus stroked the side of Vera's face affectionately, gently cradling her bloodied and broken body as he spoke the words she most wanted to hear.
His soft voice was tinged with pain and yes, with hope, as the two were forever entwined in this place,
"In peace, may you leave this shore.
In love, may you find the next.
Safe passage on your travels, until our final journey to the ground.
May we meet again."
May we meet again.