A/N: I just finished The 100 and I'm dying a little inside every day until it comes back. I tried to write angst but the fluff would not be denied.
Crossposted from Ao3
"Ah!" Abby yelps as she trips on a root and tumbles, barely managing to catch herself before she hits the ground too hard. She slowly sits up and looks at her scraped hands. One scrape is deeper than the others and blood is slowly welling up through the grime, and there's a small cut on her forearm, but she's otherwise fine. She shakes her head at her own clumsiness and begins to gather the herbs she'd dropped, now scattered around her, mixed in with the fallen leaves.
When that is done she continues on into the forest looking for more. It's a pleasant day to be alone in the woods, no thoughts in her head but where the best herbs might be growing, a day hardly marred at all by a few cuts and bruises. She's close enough to Arkadia that there is little danger, and so she can relax just a fraction and breathe in the air and enjoy the soft earthy smells of the trees and the smattering of sunlight filtered through the leaves. Marcus would be surprised if he could read her mind right now, she thinks, amused.
Though they've tentatively begun to explore the thing that had been growing between them for awhile, and she'd fully seen a side of him that she'd only ever had glimpses of throughout the many years they'd known each other, they are still haunted by what had happened at Polis. But then, everyone is, and Markus and Abby had promised each other that between the two of them at least, there is only acceptance and forgiveness. They had both done such terrible, terrible things. But giving up is not an option. Holding each other to their promise is the best start toward healing.
She picks a few herbs here, another bunch there, and breathes in their scent, so different from the sterile medicine of the Ark. They smell alive and strong. In this moment, she doesn't have to act strong and unfazed by what had happened. She can simply enjoy being alive.
Her bag full, she turns back toward home. Maybe she should start prescribing walks, she muses. It would remind people of why they had to fight so hard.
At the gate, she is allowed in with waves and greetings from the guards. She smiles back at them and goes to the med center first to sort and pack away the herbs. It's almost dinner by the time she finishes the task and she can smell the food being prepped for service at the mess hall. Tired and hungry, she goes back to her room to change and clean up.
There's a quiet knock at her door as she's pulling leaves out of her hair — seriously, why had no one pointed out that she looks a little crazy? "Come in," she says, already knowing who it is.
Marcus steps inside and closes the door gently behind him. Always so careful, she thinks fondly. This is something she respects about him, that though he is physically strong and imposing, he is careful with that strength, and uses it to help others rather than to harm. Even when they had butted heads back on the Ark, everything he had done had been for their people. Still, she likes this new Marcus so much more, this new Marcus who is not just careful but gentle, who sees what must be done yet is compassionate about how he does it. This new Marcus who, despite all that this world had thrown at him, had not been broken but had come out a better man.
She smiles at him but he is looking at her with concern. "Are you alright, Abby?" he asks. "What happened?"
Suddenly she sees herself as he must see her — leaves in her hair, dirty and scraped up hands, a cut on her arm, and rips in her jeans — and stifles her instinct to brush off his concern.
She laughs a little instead, and marvels at how his eyes light up at the sound, though he remains concerned. "I...tripped," she admits.
"Tripped?" Marcus repeats, amusement now twitching the corners of his mouth up.
She pushes at him lightly, pretending to be annoyed, and smiles into his chest when he wraps his arms around her instead. He is so solid and warm, and Abby likes that she doesn't have to put up a facade around him, that even when she is not strong he does not see weakness. His strong arms tighten a little around her as if he can sense what she is thinking. "Abby," he whispers.
"Hmm, Marcus?" she murmurs back, eyes closed.
"There's a leaf in your hair," he says, laughing.
"There's lots of leaves in my hair," she says. "Apparently everyone thinks that's normal for me, because you're the first to mention it."
"Hmm." His right arm lets go of her to pick one out, and then another.
The food can wait, she decides. He sits her on her bed and wet a cloth with the jug she keeps on her desk, but when she reaches for it with a murmur of thanks, he takes her hand instead.
"Let me," he says, his voice a low rumble, and she stills any protest she might've been forming. He kneels in front of her and carefully begins to clean the scrapes on her palms. She closes her eyes and relaxes until the world narrows down to just the warmth of his hands holding hers, and the slight sting from the wet cloth.
When he's satisfied with her right hand, he presses a kiss to each fingertip. Abby's amused again, wondering if he's surprised at her acceptance of him tending to her. Jackson would faint from shock if he ever saw her placidly allowing someone to do this for her instead of simply doing it herself, quickly and efficiently and clinically. Not like this, like her hands are something precious, as if every inch of her skin is something wonderful. Marcus is almost done with her left hand now, and though she could have easily done this herself, for once, she's glad to have someone else do this for her.
He doesn't say a word when he finishes cleaning up her hand, kissing the fingertips of her left hand as well, but not even bothering with bandages because that's how minor her injuries are. He stands up to rinse the cloth and returns to his kneeling position in front of her to tend to the cut on her arm, his movements careful and sure in the small room. Almost without thinking, she runs her other hand through his hair. She feels warmth spread through her as he leans into her touch, but continues with his self appointed task.
When all her injuries are cleaned to his satisfaction, he lays his head on her lap. It really doesn't look comfortable. "Come on, Marcus, lie down," she says, tugging him up, not wanting his knees to ache any longer. She shifts on the bed so that she can sit with her back against the wall, and pulls Marcus onto the bed so that he can still rest his head in her lap. He lets out a sigh of contentment when she brings a hand back up to stroke his hair and it hits her again how far they've come, how far everyone has come.
She can hear the noises of people coming back from dinner and they both should really eat soon. In a few minutes. For now though, she can close her eyes and run her hand through his soft hair and listen to his quiet breathing.