Reno

by Isolation Shepherd

Marcus is a long, long way from home and in a dark place. Canon divergence fic set after Blood Must Have Blood Part 2. The premise of this fic is that Marcus encouraged Clarke to pull the lever to irradiate the citizens of Mount Weather. This act plays on his mind, leading him to leave Camp and set off on a journey where he loses himself in a lot of things that aren't good for him.

It was a cold day in Reno, a small town many clicks west of Polis. Winter was giving way to spring but the early evening sun was weak and as it dropped in the sky any warmth it had given rapidly disappeared. Marcus was in his room following an afternoon working in the kitchen. He wasn't alone; Maria was with him, making the bed bounce as she sat on the edge, removing her shoes, unfastening her short skirt.

Marcus lay back on the bed and watched as she took off her stockings, twirling them in what she probably thought was a seductive fashion but was anything but in the circumstances. His eyes drifted round the room as she balled the stockings up and threw them into a corner. Everything was a dirty brown from the scuffed wooden floor to the sparse dust-covered furniture and the moth-eaten bedspread they were lying on. He hadn't had the courage to pull it back and expose the sheets since he'd arrived here. God knows when they'd last been changed. He shivered and tried to bring his focus back to the woman kneeling in front of him as she lifted her flimsy vest over her head, exposing small, round breasts to him. She had perfectly pink nipples, hard and pebbled, he suspected more from the cold than from arousal but the sight stirred him nevertheless. He reached out and caressed her breasts, pinching the nipples between finger and thumb. She gasped and leaned into his hands.

"Harder," she said, so he twisted, feeling a sudden need to hurt her that pained him. She cried out and he let go, ashamed, but she placed his hands back on her breasts.

"I like it like that," she said, but he couldn't do it again. He didn't know why she wanted to punish herself, what demons she was running from, but he wasn't going to hurt her. He'd slipped a long way, but not that far.

"No," he said, "but I could suck you?"

She nodded and he took a nipple into his mouth, sucking hard as she moaned and caressed her other breast. He could see her flicking the nipple out of the corner of his eye, so he did the same with his tongue and she stopped what she was doing and put her hands on the back of his head, pushing him closer.

"Use your teeth," she said between pants.

"I can't."

"You can. Please."

Marcus closed his eyes and took the nipple between his teeth, nibbling it and sucking it until he tasted salt mixed with the iron tang of blood that was engorging the tip. He stopped then, her nipple popping out of his mouth with a wet sound; it was bright red from his efforts. He looked at her; her eyes were closed, her lips slightly parted.

"Oh!" she said when she realised he had stopped sucking on her.

"I don't want to hurt you, make it sore."

"You won't, but thanks, I guess." She looked down at him, at the bulge in his pants. "It's your turn now."

She unbuckled his belt, pulled the zipper down and took his cock out. He was only semi-hard, so she stroked him a few times until he stiffened and became wet and then she bent her head and took him into her mouth, sliding her tongue up and down the vein on the underside as she sucked. He looked down at the top of her head as she worked him; she had Abby's hair, long and golden brown. If she stayed where she was, didn't look up again, she almost could be. His cock pulsed at the thought.

As though she could sense his thoughts and wanted to ruin them she stopped and looked up at him. "How does that feel, honey? You want me to go slow?" She had Abby's voice as well, low and throaty.

He nodded and looked away; not wanting to see her blue eyes right then. His eyes drifted out of the window and down onto the dirt street below. He could hear people talking, bartering, shouting at each other as the market wound down for the evening and the stall holders packed away their goods. The sun was setting, blooding the sky. Shafts of liquid red light filtered through the torn gossamer curtains, making the room look like a murder had been committed there, bathing the floor and walls in scarlet.

Marcus thought about the last time he'd seen a sunset like this. They were in TonDC; it was the day after the missile strike. Abby had been working all day tending the injured, comforting the dying. Marcus's job had been to gather the dead for formal identification and then help throw them in the massive pit they'd dug for the purpose. It was soul destroying for both of them. They'd buried the last body, patched up the last of the wounded just as dusk started to fall. He'd found Abby sitting on a slight ridge above the village. She was crying, which he'd rarely seen her do before. He'd settled next to her, considered putting his arm round her but didn't; it felt presumptive, like he was taking advantage of her grief, which was ridiculous but there it was, their relationship in a nutshell. Too mindful, too cautious, too reverential to act, so destined to exist in a nowhere world of longing and loneliness. The sunset was glorious, the whole sky every shade from yellow to orange to red. He didn't think then that he would ever grow tired of it. It changed how he saw the world; the shattered stone houses of TonDC, the decaying statues, the broken-up dirt paths, all transformed by the waning sun, warmed and brought to life. The shadows lengthened, creating new shapes, smoothing out the defects. Abby's face reflected the sunlight, her tears like blood drops on her cheeks, her hair hanging in knotted strawberry curls. He knew he loved her then because he wanted to take her pain and turn it on himself, shoulder it for her so she could be free. Instead he'd sat quietly by her side and watched the sun set with her. Neither of them spoke the whole time, but her tears had dried and they'd walked shoulder to shoulder back to the village. She'd smiled at him as she said goodnight and Marcus had taken that smile and slept with it in his heart. It went a tiny way to easing the pain of what he'd witnessed, what he'd done but it wasn't enough. It was never enough.

He was brought back to the present when Maria ran her teeth along the shaft of his cock, causing him to jump. It was a sweet pain, toe-curling and blood-rushing at the same time. She slipped him out of her mouth.

"You're ready," she said.

She grabbed the waistband of his pants and he raised his hips to help her pull them down. She dropped them by the side of the bed. She took off her panties, wet her finger and slipped it inside her, bringing her juices out and spreading them over her lips. She made a show of it, spreading her cunt wide so he could take a long look at her. Her lips were pink like her nipples, the inner folds a blood red and slippery with arousal. He ran his middle finger up the length of her, coating it with her juice. She leaned forward and opened her mouth so he put his finger inside and she sucked it, her eyes fixed on him, pupils large and black in a sea of blue. He wished her eyes were brown, but you can't have everything. She crawled over him and sank onto his cock, burying him to the hilt in one long sigh. Oh, but it felt good. Despite the filth of his surroundings, even though it was all so lonely and desperate it felt good to be wanted, to be somewhere warm.

He thrust up into her but she put her hands on his chest, pinning him down.

"Let me do the work, honey. Just relax."

So he lay back and watched as she ground on his cock, gyrating until she found a position that felt good which was leaning back, hands on his thighs. She was fit for an older woman, like Abby, stomach taut and only a little papery, breasts still perky, bouncing as she rode him. Her clit was peeking out from its hood, hard and pink like a miniature cock and he reached up and stroked it gently. Her muscles clenched around him when he did so.

"Do you like that?"

"Yes," she replied breathlessly, "but only a little, mostly round it. You don't have to."

"I want to," he said, and dipped his fingers in their combined juices, massaging her clit with it, letting her moans guide him as to what she liked best.

She closed her eyes and flung her head back, her hair hanging down her back. She looked so much like Abby in that moment that he lost any sense of decorum remaining and rubbed her furiously, willing her to come quickly so he could have his own release. He was aching from holding back, waiting for the moment when he couldn't see those blue eyes and she became what he wanted her to be. She obliged a moment later, crying loudly as she came, her quivering muscles squeezing his cock so hard his orgasm seemed to explode out of him.

"Fuck," she said. "Fuck, fuck, fuck."

That ruined the moment because he couldn't imagine Abby saying those words and he came down to earth with a bump, the familiar feelings of self-loathing washing over him. He hated himself, deplored what he had become and yet he chased it time after time, day after day.

He pushed her off him, suddenly not wanting to be touching her.

"Hey!" she protested. "There's no need for that."

"I need to be alone, I'm sorry."

"I thought you were different. You seemed, nicer, more caring than most men. Most don't give a fuck if I get off as well."

"Well I guess I'm just like the rest after all."

She sighed, getting up and rummaging on the floor for her clothes putting them on until she stood in front of him, dressed in her short skirt and tight vest.

"I don't think so, honey. I don't know what she's done to you, this Abby, or what you're running from, but you deserve better than this."

Marcus was shocked at her words. "How do you know about Abby?"

Maria took the Grounder currency he'd left for her on the table, tucking it into her vest. "You called her name, just then, when you came. I presume she's your girlfriend, not your mom." She laughed, that throaty Abby laugh, and Marcus's stomach churned.

"She's not my girlfriend. She's. I don't know what she is. Listen I'm sorry, for pushing you away. I just. I need to be alone."

"It's okay. You know where I am, if you want to do this again."

Marcus nodded and was relieved when she shut the door and he was left alone. He didn't remember saying anything when he came, but it wasn't the first time this had happened. There had been Peta, at the trading post in the Shadow Valley. She hadn't minded him calling her the wrong name and he'd stayed with her a couple of weeks, working in the store by day, fucking her by night. She'd started getting attached to him, though, and he couldn't have that, so he moved on.

He got out of bed and started getting ready to go down to the inn. He had a couple of hours before his shift and he was in dire need of a drink after his session with Maria. He'd met her in the bar a few nights previously and was struck by her likeness for Abby. She'd ended up keeping him company as he worked, matching him drink for drink, telling him about the town and the people while he half-listened and cleaned the bar, served the other customers. She'd been in the town a year and that was the longest she'd stayed anywhere since she left wherever she was from. Before that she'd been wandering from village to village. Marcus had learned to recognise a fellow runaway when he saw one; they all had the same haunted look and never sat still, always looking around, shoulders tense, in case the past walked through the door having finally caught up with them. He hadn't asked her about it, though. He couldn't shoulder anyone else's misery and he didn't expect she wanted to talk about it anyway. She was in the business of feeling good and making others feel good, that's how she got through each day. Two nights ago she'd followed him into the storeroom when he went to get more stock. He wasn't surprised to see her. There'd been an inevitability about this encounter from the moment he laid eyes on her and heard her speak. He'd stood with his back against the cold wall, eyes closed while she sank to her knees in front of him. Her mouth felt good round his cock, warm and wet, and she was expert at it, bringing him to a climax that was swift and intense and left him shaky and weak. Today's rendezvous had been arranged when he met her in the store earlier, and now he was regretting it, like he always did. He went over to his water bowl and scrubbed himself clean, removing the evidence from his body; it wasn't so easy to scrub his mind clean and that was the crux of all his problems.

He'd been sitting in the bar alone for an hour drinking slowly but steadily when the door swung open violently and a large Grounder clad head to toe in furs entered and stood at the bar. Marcus looked him up and down and then ignored him, going back to his drink. The man's voice drifted across the room, loud and sonorous.

"I'm looking for Marcus Kom Skaikru. Do you know of him?"

Marcus's head snapped up in surprise upon hearing his name. He willed the bartender to deny all knowledge of him but he saw him nod in his direction.

"That's him, there, in the black jacket."

The Grounder came across to Marcus. He was Trikru, Marcus could tell from his tattoos and the way his hair was braided.

"Are you Marcus of the Sky People?"

"I am. How can I help you?"

"I have a message for you. You've been hard to track down." He handed Marcus a small metal tube. "I'll be at the bar if you have a reply." He left and took a seat at the far end, gesturing to the bartender for a beer.

Marcus pulled the top off the metal tube and unrolled a thin sheet of clear acetate. He recognised Abby's spidery scrawl in her favourite blue pen and for some reason the sight of it brought tears to his eyes. He read the message. It was short and to the point.

Please come home, Marcus. I need you. Abby

Marcus smiled at the brevity of the message. She wasn't one for long declarations, neither of them were. She could have said a lot of things in that message but she'd chosen two words that she knew would get to the heart of him: home, and need. To the restless wanderer home is somewhere they're always looking for. She's trying to remind him that he already has a home, that there's no need to search for it. Trouble was, home meant love and forgiveness and that's exactly what he was trying to avoid. He wasn't ready to be forgiven, hadn't punished himself enough yet. Then there was the word need. She could have said I miss you, I love you, I want you but she couldn't be sure he would feel the same, so she appealed to his desire to protect her, keep her safe. It was clever and he felt the pull of it, of her. It would be easy to go back, follow the messenger. He'd be home within a week. But what was he going to do? Fall into her arms, say sorry for being a childish grump and everything would be alright? It was too late for that, he'd done too many terrible things before and since he left and there was too much to atone for. He wasn't going to put that burden on her.

He picked up his beer and went over to the bar, sat down next to the messenger. "How long have you been looking for me?"

"Two months. I nearly caught up with you in Azgeda but you'd left the day before and no one knew where you'd gone."

Two months? So she'd waited a couple of weeks to give him time to get his head together and when he hadn't come back she'd sent this rider. She'd been waiting all that time with no news. That made him feel bad even though he'd made it clear in the note he'd left that she wasn't to look for him.

"Do you have a reply?"

Marcus thought for a moment. "No. No reply."

The messenger pushed back his stool and got up to leave. He loomed over Marcus. He was at least six foot five and his long braided hair and layers of rags and furs made him look huge.

"Wait," said Marcus. "Tell her. Tell her I'm okay. Tell her not to worry."

"That's all?"

"Yes, that's all."

"I'll be at the trading post if you change your mind. I leave for Polis tomorrow."

"I won't change my mind. Thank you for looking for me."

The Grounder shook his head and gave Marcus a pitying look as he left. Marcus felt sick to his stomach.

"Give me another beer," he said to Tyko the bartender.

The man pulled out a large flagon of ale and poured some into Marcus's tankard. "Don't drink too much. You're working tonight."

"Just give me the beer." Marcus took the cold brew back to his table and sat with his back to the wall, nursing his drink. He didn't want to think, so he downed the beer in one and signalled to Tyko to bring him another. He came over with the flagon and slammed it on the table.

"May as well have the lot. I'll get Loki to cover you tonight."

"Consider this my notice," said Marcus. "I won't be here tomorrow."

"Settle up before you leave."

Marcus nodded and the bartender left, leaving him alone with his flagon of ale. He poured himself a pint and settled down to spend yet another evening drinking his pathetic life away.

Two hours later Marcus had drunk five beers, which two months ago would have rendered him incapable but now just made him tipsy and a little unsteady on his feet. He was weaving his way back from taking a leak when he spotted Maria sitting at his table, helping herself to a beer from his flagon. He groaned. He wasn't in the mood for company, and definitely not hers.

"Hey honey! Tyko said you were sitting here. You don't mind me having a drink, do you?"

Marcus sank into his chair opposite her. "Would it matter if I did?"

She shrugged and took a long draft of the beer. "I guess not."

"What are you doing here, Maria?"

"I heard you had a visitor. You want some more of this?" She indicated the flagon. Marcus nodded and took the beer she poured. It was warming up now and slid down his throat like honey. His limbs felt loose, his veins heated. He looked at Maria through half-lidded eyes. She didn't look as much like Abby as he had first thought, not if you really looked at her. Her lips were slightly plumper, her eyelashes way too short. And of course there were the eyes, almost as deep a blue as Abby's were brown. They were quite startling set against her olive skin and brown hair.

"Is there anything you don't know?"

"People don't like me just because I'm a good fuck, you know. I'm a good listener. Half the people who come to me don't even want to fool around, they just want someone to talk to. So I hear things."

"Well I don't want a fuck or need to talk, so you're wasting your time." Marcus gestured with his hand for her to leave but she didn't move.

"Look like her do I, your Abby?"

"What are you talking about?"

"I'm talking about how earlier you shouted her name when you were fucking me and now you can't look me in the eye. I remind you of her and you feel ashamed about what we did, because I'm not her, and yet I am."

Marcus sighed. She was so close to the truth it was uncomfortable. He didn't know how he was going to get rid of her without admitting something. She wanted to be right. "Yes, you look like her. They all do."

Maria stretched back in her chair, let the front legs lift slightly off the floor. For one mean second Marcus hoped she'd tip right back, and then regretted his thought. It wasn't her fault she could see straight through him and he didn't like it one bit.

"They all do? So there have been others?"

"One or two, yes."

"And yet you don't need to talk?"

"That's right."

"Flower. You're out of here tomorrow one way or the other, aren't you? You're either going to go back with that Trikru fella or you're going to run away so she can't come and find you. Why not let it all out now? You're never going to see me again."

Marcus found the offer tempting. She was right again. He'd already decided it was time to move on. Spring was coming and he thought he might head west, complete his journey across the country and end it as far away from home as it was possible to be without going to sea. Maybe then the only way would be back, maybe he would be ready. It was a lonely life he was leading, lonelier than he'd ever been. Even back on the Ark, when he'd first heard the crackle of Raven's voice over the radio from Earth and realised all those people had died in vain, when the certainties of his world had turned upside down, he hadn't felt as alone as he had these last two months.

"I've done some terrible things," he said at last, and it felt good to say that out loud, to admit it to someone. The last time he'd admitted that had been to his mother, and he'd done a lot worse since then.

"You? I find that hard to believe. You're too nice. You care too much."

"How can you know that? We only met a few days ago and we haven't exactly had a deep and meaningful conversation."

"I told ya. I'm a study of human nature. I've seen it all. You're decent. If you weren't, you wouldn't be punishing yourself the way you are."

"Even good people can do bad things. The atomic bomb, the apocalypse, both the consequence of good intentions. History is littered with it." Marcus drank more beer, topped Maria's tankard up. He was starting to feel supremely relaxed. It was the beer effect mainly, it was making his tongue looser than usual and why not? He was tired of brooding by himself; may as well share some of the misery.

"I know who you are, you know. Everybody does."

Marcus was astonished. He thought he'd finally found a place in this broken little town of Reno where no one knew him or what he'd done. When he'd arrived a week ago there'd been no double take from anybody, no look of surprise or recognition of his name. No one had clapped him on the back in congratulations or shook their head in disgust. They'd pretty much ignored him and until the messenger had shown up earlier he'd considered staying here for a while longer.

"Why hasn't anyone said anything?"

"This is a no fucks kinda town. Well, there are plenty of fucks going on but not that type. People here have their own demons. Most are incomers like you, people running away from something. They land here, find no one else cares and they can be whoever they want to be."

"So you know what I did, then? What do you think about it?"

"I expect you did what you had to do. They weren't nice people, from what I hear, the Mountain Men."

"That's true of their leaders, but the rest of them were just civilians, doing what they were told, trying to survive." Marcus looked down at his feet, not wanting to see her face when he spoke. "We killed them all. At least three hundred and fifty people. And before that, on the Ark, three hundred and twenty people, just to save some air. And we didn't need to. I only had to wait a few more days. And there were others, some strangers, some friends." His voice trailed away, thinking about Jake and Aurora Blake and all the others who'd died because he was too eager to follow the laws, laws that he now saw as inhuman, draconian.

"And you personally killed each of those people did you? Stuck a knife in them, twisted it?"

"No, but I might as well have."

Maria shook her head. "Do you like being a martyr?"

"What? No!"

"Then I don't see why you have to take all this on your shoulders. Did you make all those decisions by yourself?"

"Some of them, but that's not the point."

"Well what about Abby? What have you done to her? Or what has she done to you? Screwed around on you has she?"

Marcus laughed. If only it were something like that. "Abby and I don't have that kind of relationship."

Maria folded her arms, had a big smile on her face. "Ah. Now it makes sense. You'd like to have that relationship with her, though? That's why you're chasing look-a-likes round the country."

"I don't want to talk about Abby. I've done things I'm not proud of, that's all you need to know."

"Marcus."

"Don't call me Marcus. It's Kane."

Maria knew she'd hit a soft spot, he could tell by the look on her face, but to her credit she didn't pursue it. He didn't want to hear that name coming from her mouth in her voice that was so like Abby's. It felt wrong.

"Kane. You can't keep punishing yourself for what you've done. Where does it end?"

It ends when he could look at himself in the mirror and not see the man who'd killed 700 people, when he stopped seeing the people writhing in front of him, clutching their faces as their skin literally melted off them, when he stopped hearing their screams every time he closed his eyes. It ends when he can look at Abby and not see the scars he's caused or couldn't prevent, not see the pain in her face as the drill bored into her leg.

The worst thing, though, what he could not tell Maria, what he could not say to anyone, was that sometimes in the dead of the night, when all was quiet and there was nothing to block out his darkest thoughts, he knew that he'd killed the people in Mount Weather for Abby, to save her, and that was why he couldn't look at her or himself. And when it was really black, and he'd drunk too much, and he was lying next to some girl whose name he didn't even know, he thought about Jake and wondered if he'd floated him for Abby too. Not on her behalf, but on his. He knew he wasn't directly responsible for Jake's death. He hadn't even known about Jake's plans and he wasn't there when he was arrested and the decision to float him was a Council decision that no individual could do anything about. But still. He knew he could have done more. He could have tried to save him, but he didn't. He stood to one side and let it all happen and part of him, the part that had loved her since she was a young girl, was… say it, say it, say it. Glad. No, not glad, that's not true, he wasn't glad, he was terribly sad about the whole thing, but he was complacent, impassive.

"I'm not sure it will ever end," he said. "Do you want to get out of here?" He downed the last of his beer and got up on unsteady legs. The room swam in and out of focus for a moment until he got used to being upright.

They made it as far as the back alley, and then he took her against the wall, pants round his ankles, thrusting so hard he could hear the slap of her back against the stone. She didn't complain and he didn't care. His orgasm was muted, hardly worth the effort and he left her pulling her jeans back on and stumbled into his room, crashing on the bed. He was asleep in a moment.

When he woke he genuinely wished for a minute that he was dead. His head throbbed and he could barely lift it off the pillow. His eyes were glued together with some kind of gunk which he wiped off with his fingers. His mouth felt rough like he'd eaten gravel and he smelled of stale beer. He'd slept fully clothed and when he took his trousers off to get washed he was crusted with dried semen and other secretions and he sank to the floor and cried for the first time in all these two months. He let it all out, great heaving sobs, tears streaking his face and dripping down his front, making splash marks on the dusty floor. He knew he couldn't go on like this. All he was doing was pushing himself further and further away from what he really wanted. If he went much further he was scared he would never be able to come back if indeed it wasn't already too late. How far was too far? It was already too hard to contemplate. How was he going to face Abby? How was he going to tell her that he'd been fucking random women who looked like her? How was he going to explain why he hadn't had the guts to face up to himself and what he'd done? What a mess this all was.

He wiped his tears away, washed himself and cleaned his clothes as best he could. He packed his few possessions into his bag and left currency on the table for the landlord. Then he went over to the trading post. He stood outside, looking up at the row of windows that formed the bedrooms wondering which one the messenger was in, whether he was up yet, whether he was eating breakfast. Had he gone already? Was he too late? He pushed open the door and went inside. The store keeper was behind the counter, cleaning the hide of a deer. He looked up as Marcus approached.

"You have a Grounder messenger staying here, from Trikru. Is he still here?"

The store keeper nodded. "He's saddling up his horse out in the stable, then he'll be on his way. Do you want to see him?"

Marcus shook his head. "No. Can you give him this before he leaves?" He handed the man a note wrapped in cloth. "It's important he gets it."

"I'll make sure he sees it."

"Thank you." With that Marcus left and turned right at the junction, heading on the road towards Cherry Creek, a small town off the road that ran from Polis all the way out to the west coast. It wasn't on the main route so he felt confident he would be off the beaten track, which was where he liked to be. He walked slowly, enjoying the morning sun. Winter had disappeared and spring was rising. The verges of the path were flush with small yellow flowers, holding their petals to the pale sun in vain hope of catching some rays. Marcus thought about his note, how Abby would react. Once he'd recovered from his breakdown that morning he'd decided that the woman who'd searched for him for two months deserved more than an "I'm okay" so he'd penned her a brief message. He played his words over and over again as he walked.

Abby. Thank you for looking for me. I want to help you but I need more time. I'm sorry. I can't be what you want me to be right now. Marcus.

He already regretted sending it. It would be better if she forgot all about him, moved on with her life. He couldn't see how he would ever be able to go back. He'd gone too far, sunk too low. Maybe they both needed a fresh start. He turned his face to the sun and trudged down the road to the next town, the next adventure if that's what you could call it. Maybe tomorrow would bring something different, a new life where no one knew he was Marcus Kom Skaikru and he could be a life giver, rather than taker. Wouldn't that be nice?

It took him two days of walking to get to Cherry Creek. The road was so offbeat no one passed him and so there was no opportunity to get a lift on a horse or in the back of a cart as he had done on previous journeys. The path followed the creek as it meandered through woods and past oxbow lakes and clearings full of spring flowers. It was nice to be completely alone for a while, the only sounds the rush of the water as the creek swelled with winter snow melt and the love songs of birds searching for a mate. Everything around him was awakening and Marcus felt like an anomaly; the only thing dying when the rest of the world was springing into new life.

On his second night, as he lay beneath the stars in a woodland clearing, he was too wired to sleep and his mind drifted back over the last three months. He'd been avoiding thinking, scared of where it would lead, what he might be tempted to do if he thought too deeply. But here, with no drink to numb his brain and no woman to distract him, he couldn't help going over his actions again and again.

In the immediate aftermath of the killings at Mount Weather he'd been okay. There was so much to do, making sure everyone was safe, getting medical help for the injured because Abby was in no state to provide it, and clearing the irradiated bodies away, burning them in a muddy field behind the bunker. He organised everyone, helped wherever he could. He was too busy to think. Then on the way back to Camp Jaha he'd walked by Abby's side, comforting her when the stretcher jolted and she cried out in pain. He held her hand, squeezing her fingers when she needed courage. The longer they walked, the more she slept and he started to think about what he'd done and why he'd done it. He had never felt fear before like he did watching her suffering on the table. Not when he'd been rushing towards certain doom as Mecha Station plummeted to the ground, nor when he'd been trapped underground in TonDC and thought no one would ever hear his desperate clanging of the pipe. Those were nothing to seeing her pinned to the table, the drill cutting through tender flesh into bone and marrow, into the very heart of her. Her cries had cut through to his marrow as well, as though he were being tortured alongside her. He wished he could take that pain from her, but he was completely helpless chained to the wall. His pleas that they could donate the marrow fell on deaf ears and a sense of hopelessness had washed over him. He couldn't see a way out and the thought of watching her die on the table was unbearable.

So when Clarke's voice came over the speaker saying that she would irradiate them all if they didn't stop he willed her to go through with it. She hesitated, though, even when Cage ordered them to drill into Abby again. The drill started to graze the surface of Abby's other leg and he heard himself shout "Do it, Clarke! Do it!" in a strangled, desperate voice that he didn't even recognise as his own. And she had. Two days later, back at Camp Jaha, those words began to haunt his dreams to the extent that he stopped sleeping and then stopped eating and talking. Abby tried to understand, wanted him to talk but what could he say? I killed them for you? He wasn't going to share that burden with her, make her feel as guilty as he did because she would. She'd be devastated. Eventually he couldn't stand the way she looked at him any longer, couldn't bear her understanding, her love. It was too much. He'd slipped a note under Abby's door telling her he needed time to think about what he'd done and not to worry or look for him and he had left. Walking through the gates, seeing the forest road stretching ahead of him full of promise and not looking back at what he was leaving behind was the easiest thing he had ever done. He felt nothing but relief, at least at first. But as he soon found out, you can't run away from yourself.

He'd thought about killing himself on one really low night a couple of weeks after he'd left. He'd allowed himself to be picked up by a woman in a drinking den in a town west of Polis. He'd downed a few beers and his tolerance was still low back then so he was drunk. She looked a little like Abby with her long brown hair and brown eyes and it had seemed like a good idea at the time. He'd never had a one night stand before, not even when he was young on the Ark, and it was exciting and freeing to have no consequences. He also needed the comfort and she gave him plenty of that. When he sobered up the next day he felt devastated, disgusted with himself. If this was going to be the pattern of his life then he'd rather get it over with there and then, just run a knife over his wrists like he did in TonDC, only this time there would be no Jaha to interfere. He couldn't do it, though. That time had been because he genuinely thought his death would bring peace to the Grounders and Skaikru and he would sacrifice himself for that. This time his death would be of no good to anyone, just a burden for whomever had to clean up after him. So he'd moved on and the pattern had been set, repeating the same actions again and again in different towns as he moved west away from Camp Jaha and TonDC and all the painful memories. He was killing himself slowly instead, in less obvious ways. It was far more painful, but that was the point.

Arriving at Cherry Creek he had been immediately taken with the town. It must have been pretty once and still had a charm, with stone buildings many of which were still intact and wooden replacements that had been built with care. It looked like a town that people enjoyed living in. Marcus didn't expect he'd be able to stay there long, but he wanted a rest after his walk and needed to earn food and drink somehow. He was running short on currency and had nothing left to barter with except the clothes on his back, and they had seen better days even before he embarked on this journey. He found the local inn and got a room for the night with a promise that he would work in the kitchen to pay for it.

That had been two weeks ago and he was still in the town. He was working for free for the innkeeper in exchange for room and board and the locals were friendly but discreet. They didn't ask questions but were happy to talk if he wanted to. He didn't, not about personal things anyway, but there were a couple of old Grounders with extensive knowledge of the history of the area and Marcus spent many hours a day listening to them, learning from them. The rest of the time he explored his surroundings, going for long walks through the forest and along the creek. The area was more lowland than where they had landed. There were fewer conifers and more broadleaved trees, so the forest was bare at the moment with only a few species starting to burst their buds, bright green leaves slowly starting to unfurl. He could see straight up to the pale blue sky most days through the bare branches. His favourite tree was the hornbeam with its grey bark, fluted and twisted, so tall it seemed to touch the heavens.

Many of the plants were different here to back at Camp. The clearings and edges of the wood were carpeted with them, yellows, whites, pinks and blues. He liked looking at them, they gave him a sense of peace, but it was bittersweet. His mind always went to Abby and how she loved to search out new medicinal herbs. He felt a pang of regret that he couldn't show them to her. He picked a few on each trip and took them back to the Inn. He'd sit with the elders in the afternoon, sipping a few beers and listening as they explained the medicinal uses of the plants to him. He was starting to feel dangerously at home in this out-of-the-way little town.

The day that everything changed started off much the same as usual. He woke mid-morning after a reasonable night's sleep for once. He was trying to cut his drinking down and on the nights when he managed it he was sleeping much better. Drunk sleep meant being comatose for two hours followed by hours of restless half-sleep and getting up to pee every five minutes. He always felt like shit the next day until he'd had the next drink when he perked up until the cycle began again. Fresh air, conversation and less drinking was preferable to that, but the downside were those nights when it all got on top of him and his mind wouldn't shut down. Those times were torture and he couldn't help reaching for the whisky in the dead of the night when the breathing techniques the elders had taught him failed and he couldn't quiet the demons.

He was wiping down tables in the bar when Leah came in, smiling at him in that lop-sided way she had. He nodded to her.

"You here for your usual?"

"Make it a large one. It's been a shit day."

He went behind the bar and poured her a large tankard of moonshine.

"What was shitty about it?"

She settled on a stool in front of the bar, her brown eyes following him as he tidied the empties away and wiped the spills off the bar. The Inn was quiet as it usually was at this time of day. Most people were still out in the fields and wouldn't be back until the sun had set, which was still a couple of hours off.

"Oh, just everything. Are you joining me?"

Marcus eyed her up; her long brown hair was braided today and had some shiny things threaded through it; Marcus had no idea what they were but they made her hair glitter when the light caught it. Her lips were a brighter red than usual as though she'd coloured them with something and she had a low-cut top on that emphasised her breasts. She was young and pretty and nice to look at he had to admit. He wondered if she'd done herself up like this for him. This was the fifth day in a row she'd been in the bar at this time. She was at least ten years younger than him and there had to be a better catch in this town than a scruffy drunken morose man with a beard that was threatening to get out of control and clothes that were more holes than material. She hadn't broken eye contact with him since she asked her question and then she smiled again and raised an eyebrow quizzically.

"Penny for your thoughts."

Marcus broke the eye contact and poured himself a drink. "They're not worth a penny. I will join you but I have to stay behind the bar. I'm working."

"That's okay. I can talk to you just as easily from here."

Marcus carried on working, sipping his beer in between his other duties. He was willing someone else to come in and distract him or her. Her eyes never left him and it made him feel uncomfortable, not least because he felt the old stirrings of desire rising again.

He'd promised himself he wasn't going to fuck another random woman. Waking up in cum-encrusted pants after a drunken fumble he could barely remember had been a shock to his system. He didn't even do it for the sex; he'd lived long enough without it in the past and he knew how to take care of his basic needs. He wasn't sure why he did it, why he chased meaningless sexual encounters. Just so he wasn't alone in bed? So he could feel something, anything, for a moment in time that was vaguely pleasurable? All of the above probably, and then some. There were other ways to find comfort and that's what he was trying to do. He had to find his moral compass again or he was never going to be able to look Abby in the eye. Leah was threatening that determination and he wanted her to go away and leave him alone. She wasn't going to do that though, so he took bigger and longer sips of his beer and hoped that non-committal answers to her questions would put her off him.

She finally gave up on him after an hour of yes and no answers and left him in peace. His shift ended and he took up his usual seat at the far end of the room where he had a good view of everyone coming and going. Sometimes he liked to sit and just people watch, imagining where they had come from, especially the strangers. They didn't get many walk-ins as they were so far off the main route but there was usually at least one new face on most nights. He nursed another tankard of ale while he waited for his elderly friends to arrive. It wasn't long before he was sliding into that warm state of fuzzy drunkenness where everything was honey-coloured and the air seemed heavy like a comforting blanket. He was tired despite having a good sleep last night and he closed his eyes for a second, let his head droop onto his chest.

He thought he was dreaming then, when he heard a voice he recognised, low and treacly. For a moment he thought it was Maria, that she'd followed him somehow. When he looked up to where the voice was coming from he saw a small woman with long golden brown hair tied up in a ponytail standing at the bar. The innkeeper was gesturing towards Marcus and the woman turned to follow his direction. Marcus's heart seemed to stop beating. A lump of something indescribable rose from the depths of his stomach and lodged in his throat so he couldn't breathe either. It was Abby.

Their eyes locked across the room and for a second they both just stared at each other. Marcus was in such deep shock he couldn't feel anything, couldn't move, couldn't speak. And then she was crossing the room, manoeuvring between the tables, her ponytail swishing, the sound of her boots on the wooden floor echoing through the empty room. His heart went from stopped to thumping nearly out of his chest as he watched her get closer until finally she was standing in front of him. She smiled tentatively.

"Hello, Marcus."

Marcus felt tears slide down his cheeks, he was powerless to stop them. The reality of her after all this time, looking the same if a little thinner, while he sat here drunk, scruffy and probably slightly smelly, overwhelmed him.

She pulled out a chair and sat opposite him. "It's okay. It's a shock, I know. I'm sorry."

He nodded and wiped the tears away, swallowing hard, trying to get his emotions under control when all he really wanted to do was cry until there were no tears left. Abby put her hand on the table, stretching it towards him, and then pulled it back a little, as if she'd changed her mind, or was unsure whether it was too much, which it was. He wasn't ready for physical contact; he wasn't ready for any of this, but here it was. Here she was. He studied her in the silence that followed as she was studying him. She looked tired with dark circles under her eyes, and thinner, her cheekbones more prominent, her nose sharper. She looked better than he must do, though. He felt uncomfortable watching her take in his beard which was full and unruly and his hair which had grown long and wavy and hadn't seen a brush in a few days. He usually just ran his fingers through it and left it at that.

Marcus didn't know what to say so he waited for Abby to break the silence which she did after a moment.

"Your beard is so much fuller. It suits you."

Marcus stroked his beard, feeling its rough edges like needle points. "It needs a trim. I guess I've let it go wild."

"I like it." Her eyes were searching his face, looking for clues as to what she could say, what he was willing to hear. "How are you?"

Marcus felt tears pricking his eyes again but he blinked them back. "I'm fine," and then after a second, "how are you?" because that's what you were supposed to say when someone asked after you, weren't you? Of course he wanted to know how she was, but he wasn't sure he was ready to hear it, not the truth at any rate.

"I've been better. I'm glad to see you, though. That makes me happy."

The innkeeper came over to their table and interrupted before Marcus could think of a reply. The man's eyes were burning with curiosity. "Everything alright, Kane? Can I get you anything? Anything for the lady?"

Marcus looked at Abby. "Do you want a drink, or something to eat? Are you hungry?"

She shook her head. "Maybe later, but go ahead if you want something."

Marcus was sorely tempted. His flagon was empty and he'd never wanted a drink more in his life than he did right then. He didn't want to drink in front of Abby, though.

As though she had noticed his dilemma she spoke again. "Maybe I will have a drink. Bring us two beers please."

Marcus felt ashamed and absurdly grateful at the same time. He wished he didn't need the drink but he couldn't get through whatever was coming without some support. The innkeeper set two tankards down on the table and retreated to the bar. Marcus could feel his eyes on them from across the room. He wasn't used to seeing his employee with anyone other than the two old Grounders so it was natural he was curious he supposed. He took a long swig of the beer and relaxed a little as it warmed his veins, loosened his muscles.

Abby took a sip of her beer. "It's nice. Are you working here?"

Marcus nodded. "I get room and board in return."

"That's a good deal."

"It suits me." They fell quiet again. Hundreds of unasked questions hung in the air between them; the weight of them was oppressive. Marcus couldn't understand what was she doing here; why had she come all this way? He waited again but she didn't speak, just watched him through those impossibly long eyelashes. Her silence was forcing him take the initiative. Despite not knowing if he could face the truth he had to find out.

"What are you doing here, Abby? Didn't you get my note? How did you find me?"

"I got your note yesterday when I arrived in Reno. I'm here because I'm worried about you, you must know that? I've been out of my mind wondering what had happened to you, whether you were alive or dead."

"I told you not to worry."

"And you honestly thought that I would do that? That I could wake up in the morning with a note from you under the door saying you'd gone and I'd just shrug my shoulders and get on with my day? Telling me not to do something that you know I have no choice about isn't good enough; it doesn't absolve you of responsibility for your actions, Marcus, no matter what you tell yourself."

He knew that perfectly well. It had served him for the first few days, helped him get through the long walks and the sleepless nights out in the cold, telling himself she'd be okay, that she knew he could take care of himself. When that stopped working he'd buried all his feelings in as big a pit as he could dig for himself in his heart and whenever they'd threatened to rise to the surface he'd drowned them in alcohol.

"I know that." His shoulders slumped as he tried to sink into his chair, away from her penetrating gaze.

"I know you do, deep down. I'm just angry, Marcus. I'm so angry with you, and sad. I'm sad that you didn't feel you could talk to me, that I couldn't be there for you."

He looked down at his beer, not knowing what to say, how to answer her. She had every right to be angry with him but he also felt a little angry with her because he hadn't asked her to come and find him, didn't want this confrontation yet. Turning up out of the blue put everything on her terms, taking the control away from him to determine when he was ready to go back, to talk. He felt resentful, and then guilty for feeling that way because all she'd really done was worry about him and care that he was alright.

Abby must have taken his silence for reticence or sensed his guilt because she reached across and grazed her fingers across the back of his hand briefly. "We can't talk properly here. Is there anywhere private we could go?"

Marcus thought for a moment. As tempted as he was to have this conversation in the bar where there was less chance of her getting really mad and shouting he knew the time had come to talk, whether he wanted to or not. "There's my room. It's. It's not as tidy as it should be." He was trying to picture it as he'd left it that morning and it wasn't an attractive image.

"That doesn't matter to me. I've brought up a child. I know mess."

She smiled and Marcus smiled back. He doubted Clarke's mess involved bottles of whisky and empty beer tankards, not even when she was a teenager. He led the way out of the inn, nodding at the innkeeper who was open-mouthed with curiosity, and round the back and up the rickety wooden stairs to his room. He opened the door and stepped inside. His eyes immediately alighted on all the disarray and his heart sank at the thought that she was seeing all this. She followed him in and stood silently in the corner while he picked up the empty whisky bottles that were lying next to his bed and shoved them into another corner of the room. The few clothes he owned were scattered across the floor so he bundled them up together and added them to the pile in the corner. Then he straightened the furs on his bed and opened a window to let some air in.

"There's only the bed to sit on I'm afraid."

Abby nodded. "That's okay. It looks comfy." She turned to settle herself on the bed but not before he'd caught the shine in her eyes, the glimmer of tears forming. He saw her surreptitiously wipe them away with the edge of her sleeve. Suddenly he couldn't be there right then, needed a moment.

"I forgot our beers. I'll just get them." He went back out of the door before she could speak and sank onto the stairs. He felt like his heart was literally breaking. To be the object of her pity was too much for him to take. He cried big heaving silent sobs, his throat stretching and aching with the effort of holding the sound of them in. He balled his hands into fists, his fingernails cutting into his palms to try and distract him, stop the tears. He had to get a grip on himself or he was never going to get through this. He took some deep breaths, remembering what the elders had taught him about how to calm his demons down when they raised their heads, and went into the bar, helping himself to two fresh beers while the innkeeper was busy in the kitchen. He took them back upstairs, and pushed the door open with his hip.

"Here we are." He handed her a beer, ignoring the red that was ringing her irises, knowing that he probably looked the same.

"Thanks." Abby took the beer and cradled it in her hands. She was sitting near the foot of his bed, legs dangling over the edge. Her feet didn't reach the ground. Marcus sat next to her, a polite distance between them, close enough to touch her if he wanted to, but not shoulder to shoulder like they were in TonDC.

"How DID you find me? I mean I know you sent the messenger but how did you get here so quickly? He can't have got back to you that soon."

"I told him to keep following you if you didn't want to come back with him and send me messages. I got his first message a week ago and came straight out. It was easy enough for him to follow you here. He had a boy with him who told the storekeeper in Reno and when I got there the boy gave me your note and brought me out on his horse."

She knew him better than he thought, already had a plan in place for when he said no. He didn't know whether to be admiring of her ingenuity or ashamed of his predictability. He was both. "I didn't mean to stay here more than a couple of nights."

"But you like it here."

Marcus picked at the fur covering his bed. "I wouldn't say that. It's comfortable I guess. I'm happier here than I have been anywhere else."

"Why did you leave, Marcus? I've racked my brain and I can't think of a reason why you would just up and go, why you wouldn't talk to me. I thought we'd moved past all that not trusting each other. I thought we were friends."

To answer that truthfully was to bare his soul to her and he wasn't sure he could do that.

"I regret the way I left, I want you to know that. I'm sorry. There was a lot weighing on me, and it got too much. I felt it was the only way."

Abby wasn't letting him get away with that, though. "That's bull and you know it. I've no doubt you regret it, but you're not giving me a reason. What was weighing on you so much that you left us all behind without a word? No matter how hard I try I can't process it, Marcus. It makes no sense."

Marcus got off the bed, paced across to the other side of the room. "Why does it matter? I never asked you to follow me out here. In fact I explicitly told you not to. I don't have to explain myself to you."

Abby stood up as well, crossing the room to stand inches from him.

"Maybe you don't care about me, I don't know any more, but I care about you, even when you're so blatantly trying to push me away. You're not running from me again. I'm not leaving here until you tell me what's at the heart of all this. I don't care if you hate me after tonight. I want to know the truth."

Marcus gripped her shoulders, looking into her eyes, willing her to believe him and let things lie. "Trust me, you don't want to know the truth."

She held his arms and they stood there in some kind of weird parody of a dance.

"Tell me the damn truth, Marcus. How bad can it be? I was with you through everything, remember. I know everything you've done. There's nothing you could do that would make me…," she hesitated, before continuing, "nothing is worth cutting yourself off from me, from everyone."

"You may know everything I've done but you don't know why I did it. You don't know why I killed those people."

"What people?"

"In Mount Weather."

"Mount Weather? This is about what happened there?"

"Not just there, but, yeah."

She shook her head in genuine puzzlement. "You did what you had to do there, no one blames you for that. They were torturing us and the Grounders, killing us."

"I didn't do it because of that." Marcus's words were so quiet they were barely a whisper. Abby drew closer, straining to hear him.

"Why did you do it?"

"I did it for you. To save you. They're all dead because of you, and when I look at you, they are all that I can see." And there it was, his soul laid bare. He'd never felt so exposed and vulnerable, like he'd been flayed and his internal organs were left open for her to see; everything that made him who he was at this moment revealed to her gaze.

He thought she would recoil, that she would take her hands off him in disgust but she stayed where she was, her grip tightened, tears spilled down her face. She didn't speak, she just pulled him in so that his face ended up buried in the crook of her neck. Her arms went around his back, hugging him tight. He'd been running from this moment for months, avoiding her pity, her love, her forgiveness. But now that he was here in her arms he found that all he wanted was to sink deeper into her embrace. His arms snaked up her back, feeling the sharp points of her shoulder blades, the heat of her body. She pressed him closer and he could hear her sobbing, feel her tears soaking through his shirt wetting his shoulder. He let go of himself then, and cried all the tears he'd held in before on the stairs, all the tears he hadn't cried since he told Clarke to pull the lever. It seemed like minutes before they pulled apart and when they did he felt empty and drained. Abby held his face in her hands and planted a kiss on his forehead, her lips lingering, warm and comforting.

"I'm sorry, Marcus. I'm so sorry," she said when she finally let go, her hands dropping between them and holding his.

"It's not your fault. None of this is your fault. It's me."

"Well, it's not your fault either. You did what you had to do. You had no choice."

He did have a choice, and his choice was to kill them to save her. When it was Raven on the table he hadn't done anything about it; would he have persuaded Clarke to irradiate them all then, or if it was Miller or Harper? He hadn't intervened in Finn's death. But when it was Abby…

"Yes, but to kill so many people just to save one, even when that one is." He trailed off, unable to say the words, couldn't tell her how he felt. Even when that one is the one you love, he wanted to say. He thought she knew anyway. It was in her eyes, the touch of her hands on his, the way her thumbs stroked him almost absent-mindedly, just to have contact.

"I'm not going to say don't blame yourself, because clearly you do and we're going to have to work out how to deal with that, but I don't blame you for what you did. I'm grateful."

He pulled his hands away, gently, but firmly. She wouldn't be grateful if she knew everything else he'd done since then, she'd be disgusted. He felt tired suddenly, really bone tired and Abby looked exhausted. She'd probably been riding for days and didn't look as though she'd eaten properly.

"Why don't you sit down, you look tired," he said. "Are you hungry? Can I get you something to eat?" In truth he needed another break, just for a moment, to gather his thoughts. The room was small and claustrophobic with the two of them and their problems crammed in there, not to mention the two huge elephants in the room – their feelings for each other and what he'd done since he left, neither of which he wanted to address right then.

She nodded. "Maybe something to eat would be good. Not too much."

"Okay. I won't be long." She smiled wanly but he also saw concern in her eyes, maybe even fear. "I'll be back. I promise."

She nodded again and he left her curling up on the bed, her hands tucked under her head while she waited for him to return.

He thought about that look while he was making his way to the inn. If he went back, there was going to be lots of worried looks and not just from her but from everyone. Every time he left camp would she be wondering if she'd ever see him again? What would that be like for both of them? When you've gone as far as he had, perhaps there was no going back. That thought made him feel sick and he didn't think he could stomach the cold meats and bread he'd picked up for their supper.

He pushed the door to his room open with one hand while balancing the plates with his other. As he stepped inside he could see immediately that she was asleep. She was on the near side of the bed, almost at the edge, curled up in a foetal position. He put the plates down on the small table and carefully pulled out a spare fur from under the bed and covered her with it. He retreated to the corner and sat down on the floor, knees drawn up to his chest. He studied her, how the wisps of hair that escaped her ponytail caught in her eyelashes. He wondered if that irritated her, like his hair was starting to do to him now that it was too long and the curls kept flopping into his eyes. Her breathing was slow and steady. She was already in a deep sleep even though he'd only been gone a few minutes. She must have been so tired and he supposed she hadn't had a good night's sleep since he left. What had he done to her? Now that she was here and he was forced to deal with the reality of his actions he could see how selfish he had been. He thought he was sparing her the pain but he was only sparing himself, and look how well that had turned out.

It was cold sitting on the floor. Darkness had fallen and the temperature had dropped. Marcus wasn't sure what to do for the best, but he couldn't stay here and he didn't want to leave her, didn't want her to wake up alone and get that look in her eyes again, that fear in her heart. So he crept around to the far side of the bed and slid under the cover next to her. He was thankful now that he hadn't had any women since he'd been in Cherry Creek. He could not have let her sleep in a bed where he'd done those things with other women. It wouldn't be right, like it would defile her in some way to be associated with that. She was going to have to know about it soon though. He had no hope of recovery if he kept those truths inside. He knew it was going to hurt her and that's exactly what he'd been trying to avoid, but he'd ended up hurting her anyway, probably more than he would have if he'd just told the truth to start with. She was strong enough to bear it, he realised that now, and if she hated him and didn't want to see him again then at least that was her choice. He had to give her the opportunity to feel whatever she was going to feel, and live with the consequences.

He turned so that he was facing her back but kept a respectable distance between them. They'd never done this before, never slept in the same bed or been this close. Funny how when she first arrived he didn't think he could bear her to touch him and now he was next to her, feeling the heat coming off her body in waves, hearing her gentle snores as she fell deeper and deeper into sleep. It felt comforting and his only thought as he drifted off to sleep himself was that she wouldn't be troubled when she woke and found him next to her. He hoped she'd understand; he didn't want to be alone and out in the cold anymore.

When he woke the following morning he opened his eyes to see Abby looking at him. Her hair was messy, half of it hanging loose from her ponytail, and her eyes were still bleary but the dark circles beneath them had faded a little. She smiled.

"Hi."

Marcus rubbed his eyes to try and focus them better. He still felt tired. "Hey."

"I'm sorry I fell asleep last night. I think it was just so comfy on the bed and I closed my eyes for a second and the next thing I knew there was daylight and you were here."

"I hope you don't mind, me being in the bed. It was cold on the floor."

"You tried to sleep on the floor? Marcus! It's your bed." She frowned at him, as though she didn't know what to do with him. Her stomach growled then, loud in the quiet of the room. She laughed softly. "Guess I'm hungry!"

"I can make us some eggs if you like? They have amazing eggs here, big with yokes the colour of the sun."

"That sounds nice."

Marcus threw the covers off him and got up. "Why don't I go down to the kitchen and make a start and you can join me when you're ready?"

Abby nodded. "Sounds good."

Marcus left her still lying in bed, her eyes following him as he went out of the door.

By the time they'd finished their breakfast it was late morning. Marcus had been surprised to see people in the bar when he went down to the kitchen. He'd though it was early morning but it turned out they'd slept for hours. Marcus never slept more than six hours a night, even when he was in a more peaceful state of mind, so this was a shock. They must both have needed the sleep badly.

They'd decided to take a walk because they were in need of fresh air and Marcus for one was tired of being cooped up in his room. It was too small in there, too cramped for proper conversation. There were so many things still to say, and they needed space to let them out, and air to help them breathe.

It was a beautiful spring day; the sky was pale blue streaked with wispy cirrus clouds high above them. The sun was a pale yellow, warm for this early in the year. They were standing in the clearing next to the creek that was full of spring flowers. Mayapple leaves carpeted the floor like tiny umbrellas. Most of the medicinal herbs had yet to flower but Marcus found the bright yellow flowerheads of coltsfoot along the edges and pointed them out to Abby.

"This is good for people with bad chests."

She nodded. "I know. We have it all around camp. I make it into a tea."

"Oh." Marcus felt disappointed which was ridiculous. He'd wanted to show off his knowledge, show her that he had been doing other things than just hanging around drinking. "But did you know they smoke it round here? They roll it up inside leaves. I wouldn't have thought that would be good for your lungs, but what do I know!"

"I didn't know that. Inhaling substances is an ancient practice. It has a systemic effect so it can reach all parts of the body quickly. I hadn't thought to try that, though. I will have to look into it when we get back to Arkadia."

When WE get back to Arkadia. So she was assuming he was going back with her. Marcus didn't think he'd given her that impression yesterday, and he hadn't made that decision yet. It annoyed him that she presumed that her turning up here automatically meant he would follow her home like a stray dog. When he went back over her words to analyse them he realised after a moment that she'd called the camp Arkadia. When he left it was Camp Jaha. A lot must have changed. He decided to ask; he was curious about how everything was going but also nervous to find out that they were all getting on fine without him. What would that mean? Was he even needed?

"You've changed the name? Of the camp?"

Abby wandered down to the edge of the creek and perched on a rock. She picked up a stone and threw it into the water where it landed with a satisfying plop. Marcus followed, stood a few yards away with his back against a pine tree.

"Yes. With Jaha gone and the way he left, taking men and guns, we decided to change the name to something more hopeful."

"I like it."

She shrugged, as though his opinion was irrelevant, which he supposed it was.

"How is everyone, at Arkadia? How have you been?"

"We've been busy, setting up food growing areas, fortifying the camp. We're trying to make ourselves self-sufficient. There's a truce, at the moment, thanks to Indra. We've started to survey the area around Arkadia to get an understanding of the other clans, where they are, how they work together."

"Sounds like you've been managing well enough without me."

"What choice did we have? You've been missed, if that's what you're concerned about, but Bellamy has stepped up to the plate and we're making it work as best we can." She picked up another stone, trying to skim it across the water. It sank instantly.

"You need a flat stone, one that's smooth." Marcus searched for the perfect stone and when he found it he skimmed it across the water where it bounced five times and nearly made it to the other side before sinking. He looked at her in triumph. "See."

She raised her eyebrow in a look that was half amusement and half frustration.

"I can see you've been busy out here." Marcus's face must have betrayed the hurt he felt at the sarcasm in the remark because she said "sorry" hurriedly and then looked away.

"I haven't wanted to do much of anything for a while," he said.

"Except drink."

So now they were getting to it. He didn't answer her, waiting to see where she was going with this. After two months of avoiding confrontation he realised he wanted it after all. He needed to feel her anger, her disappointment because that was what he deserved. She had to know the truth, had to see him for what he really was, to hate him as much as he hated himself. She had been too caring so far, too forgiving. Last night he had needed that for a moment, welcomed her embrace but today he realised they were skirting around the issues. If they didn't address things now they would go back to Arkadia and he wouldn't be able to breathe in the suffocating atmosphere of her mercy, her generosity.

"I noticed the empty whisky bottles in your room, and the tankards. There were a few considering you've only been here two weeks," she said.

"I have trouble sleeping. They help me get through the nights."

"You know that's counter-productive, though, don't you? Alcohol is a stimulant and a depressant. It prevents you from getting a good night's sleep and it makes you feel worse, not better."

"It's not really about the sleeping."

"What is it about?"

"It's about thinking, or rather not thinking. I don't want to think, I don't want to feel, and drinking helps with that."

"Is it working?"

"It does in the short-term."

"But when you wake up the problems are still there?"

"Yes."

"So then you have to have another few drinks during the day. That's a vicious cycle to be in, Marcus."

"I know, but it's got me through, until now."

"I can help you, if you want."

"Thanks. Maybe." She gave him a long penetrating look, and then turned away. Silence descended and stretched on, the river taking all the unspoken words away with it downstream as Abby sat on her rock and watched it and Marcus stood against the tree watching her. He endured a couple of minutes and then he spoke. He didn't feel like they were really getting to the crux of the problem or that Abby was even interested but there was one more thing he had to say regardless.

"There's something else I haven't told you." He felt his bile rising, his legs were shaking at the thought of telling her. "It's not pleasant."

She stood up, turning to face him. "Just tell me."

"I met a few people on my journey. Women in particular."

She nodded, a flicker of realisation crossing her face. "Okay."

"I slept with them, some of them only once, some of them a few times."

"Were there many?"

"Quite a few." He watched her intently for her reaction. She swallowed hard before she spoke but that was all. She didn't show any signs of disgust or disappointment or anything at all. That made him angry. He'd told her one of his most painful secrets and she didn't seem to care, didn't register its significance.

"We're not married, Marcus. You don't owe me anything."

"I know that, but doesn't it bother you even the slightest? Aren't you disgusted with me, because I am with myself?" If the thought of him being with lots of other women didn't bother her then maybe she didn't feel for him what he thought she did. Maybe he'd got this all completely wrong. Had this all been about saving a woman who didn't even want to be saved, who didn't love him, didn't care?

"It's. I. It doesn't make me feel great. It's not something I want to dwell on or think about too much, no. But if it helped you, gave you comfort, kept you safe, then well, I'm glad you had that when you needed it."

She was being far too nice, way too accommodating. He wanted her disapproval and contempt because he'd done wrong and he should be punished. She shouldn't be so passively letting him get away with his actions. He wanted passion, anger, a full-blown argument, so he twisted the knife in a little.

"They all looked like you."

"I'm sorry?"

"I said they all looked like you, the women I fucked. Well, as close to you as I could get."

She was shocked now, her eyes were wide, her brow furrowed, her mouth slightly open. He felt a frisson of triumph but it was short-lived. Her eyes hardened but she remained otherwise unmoved. Her voice was cold as ice, though.

"And why was that, Marcus?"

"Because I hated you, okay. I hated you for making me kill those people and every time I fucked those women it was to hurt you. Every degrading thing we did was in retribution for what YOU made me do."

Her shoulders tensed with the effort of holding herself in, her hands were bunched into fists. She was probably sticking her nails into her palms like he had yesterday, swapping pain for calm, or trying to. Marcus was glad. He wanted her to feel the pain, feel something, anything except this bland acceptance.

When she spoke, her voice betrayed her true feelings; she had a quiet seething anger that thrilled him. "I didn't make you kill them, Marcus. You did that all by yourself."

"Ah, so now we're getting to the truth. You DO blame me."

Her anger flared then; her eyes blazing, body leaning towards him, finger pointing at him. "I don't blame you for that, or the women, but you're right. You DID make a choice, not then, but after, when you could have talked to me, could have told me how you felt but instead you just ran away like a coward. THAT'S what I blame you for."

He raised his voice. He wasn't shouting but he was close. "Why aren't you listening to what I'm telling you? Every time I looked at you I saw them, saw their cries, their pain, their death throes. How could I stay around when that's all I could see? How could I be with you every day knowing that?"

"You could have told me. You didn't even try. I've thought back to that time and you just stopped communicating with me, left the room when I walked in, didn't look at me. I gave you plenty of opportunities to tell me and you didn't. You ran away long before you left Camp."

Marcus was exasperated with her, wanted to take her by the shoulders and shake her until understanding finally sank in. She couldn't, or wouldn't see what he was trying to say. "I was supposed to tell you all that? That if it weren't for you, if I didn't love you so much they would be alive? How would that have made you feel? Three hundred and fifty people died in the worst way imaginable, Abby. I didn't want to put that guilt on you."

She lowered her hand, stepped back a little and Marcus went back over his words, realising too late what he'd just admitted.

"Is that true?" Her voice was a whisper now, the anger gone as suddenly as it had arisen.

Too late to go back now, Marcus thought. "I was out of my mind watching you being tortured. I knew it meant your death. I couldn't let that happen, even it meant everyone else had to die instead. I didn't give it a second thought. I only wanted you."

He watched as she processed what he was saying, her emotions flashing clearly across her face. He thought he saw grief most of all, her bottom lip was trembling, tears were welling up in her eyes.

"I told you," he said, without a hint of triumph, "now you feel guilty."

She shook her head and laughed softly. "Oh, Marcus. I don't feel guilty. I feel sad and angry and disappointed and happy and confused and lots of things."

She stepped closer to him and gestured to his hands. "Can I?" He nodded and she took his hands in hers, clasped them to her chest. "You think too deeply and you hold your troubles inside, shut them away in a box and don't give anyone the key. If you love me, then you'll let me in, give me the key."

"I don't want you to forgive me. I don't deserve it."

"Then I won't, not yet, but we can work towards understanding, can't we? We can't go on like this. You have to give some of what you feel up, Marcus. Do you still hate me? What do you see now when you look at me? Be honest."

He looked at her, at her deep brown eyes, bright with tears as they searched his face for his answer, looking for the truth, preparing herself for it.

"I never really hated you. I shouldn't have said that; it wasn't honest. I hated myself, it was me I couldn't look at, the reflection of me in your eyes, not you. I'm sorry, Abby."

"I understand that. What do you see now?"

He brushed a strand of hair out of her eyes, tucked it behind her ear. "I see love."

She took his head in her hands and he thought she was going to drop a kiss on his forehead again but she kissed him on the lips, a soft warm kiss full of promise.

"That's right," she said. "I love you too and I want to be here for you."

Abby smiled at him, that smile she'd given him in TonDC and on the way back from Mount Weather. He should have known what it meant, could have saved them both so much hurt and grief if he'd only let his head believe what his heart already knew.

"Let's try and move forward from now on," she said. It won't be easy, but we can do it together, if you want to."

There was nothing Marcus wanted more. "I do. We will."

"Do you want to go back to the inn. We could get a drink, talk?"

Marcus nodded. "That sounds good. No drink though. I don't want to see another beer ever again."

Abby laughed. "We'll see how long that lasts. You don't have to deny yourself, Marcus, just drink in moderation."

"I don't think that's ever been one of my strong points. I'm an all or nothing kind of person."

"I never would have guessed!"

When they arrived at the inn a party was in full swing. Marcus had forgotten they were hosting a celebration for the clan chief who was visiting and he was supposed to be working. They couldn't get through the main entrance it was too packed with people so he went round the back to the kitchen. Tyson his boss was frantically chopping up huge slabs of meat ready for the bbq which was firing up in the yard.

"You're late!" he grumbled.

"Yeah, sorry about that. Um, I'm not going to be able to work tonight."

Abby stepped forward. "It's okay, Marcus, if you have commitments."

"No, it's fine, Abby. I want to be with you."

Tyson looked at him and shook his head but he had a twinkle in his eye. "You're next to useless anyway, never have been able to pour a good pint. Will I be seeing you again after today?"

Marcus looked at Abby. "No, I'm going home tomorrow."

"Probably for the best. I don't think you owe me anything, so just pop your head round the door before you go."

"I'm pretty sure I do owe you, I owe you for this last shift, and the rent."

Tyson started chopping the meat again, swinging the axe with lethal force. "I said we're clear. See you in the morning."

Marcus felt tears pricking his eyes. As much as he wanted to go back with Abby, face up to his life in Arkadia, he didn't want to leave Cherry Creek. He'd grown fond of the town and its gentle people. Abby tucked her arm into his. "Let's go."

He led the way up the stairs to his room for what was probably the last time and pushed open the door, holding it for Abby to pass. When they were inside he shut the door and stood against it, not sure what was going to happen next.

"What do you want to do now?"

Abby took off her boots and lay on the bed. "Why don't we just lie here and if we want to talk we can and if we want to just rest quietly we can do that as well."

"Okay," Marcus removed his boots and his socks and joined her on the bed. She resumed her position from the previous night on the near side at the edge and he lay next to her but this time they were facing each other.

"How do you feel?" Abby propped herself up on one elbow and looked at him.

"Relieved, I guess. And nervous, apprehensive. What's it going to be like walking back into Arkadia? Everything's going to be different, and everyone's going to know."

"What are they going to know? That you needed some time to yourself, that you have a lot of burdens to carry. People love you, Marcus. Clearly you don't know that but they do. They will just be happy to see you."

Marcus tried to blink back the tears that were forming again but they stubbornly refused to retreat and slipped down his cheeks. "I hope you're right."

Abby reached across and wiped the tears away with her thumb. "Aren't I always right?" She kissed the tracks of his tears. He closed his eyes and she kissed his eyelids, his eyelashes and down over his cheekbones, mopping up the moisture until she reached his lips which she captured in a soft kiss. "I love you," she whispered, "no matter what."

Marcus's breath caught in his throat, he couldn't help it. He felt overwhelmed with emotion, not all of it good. "Abby…"

"Shush. Just let it be, let it happen." She drew closer to him then, put her hands on the back of his head and pulled him in, kissing him more passionately. He opened up to her, put his arms round her back until she was tight against him. He felt himself growing hard, he was powerless to stop it and he was confused. Past experiences were trying to crowd in on the moment and he pushed them back furiously. He didn't want this time with Abby sullied by those memories. It was difficult, though, they were insistent.

Abby sensed his hesitation, pulled back a little. She brushed the annoying curl out of his eye, caressed his brow. "We're all the sum of our experiences, you know, good or bad. It's just who we are. They're allowed to sit with us. We have to accommodate them, give them room, make them comfortable.

Marcus looked at her, this beautiful, insightful, challenging woman. Why had he wasted so much time pushing her away? She was nothing but love and compassion, always had been. He ran his fingers over the contours of her face, her bones sharp-edged and too prominent. His fault, but he pushed that thought down. Her lips were slightly parted and he brushed her bottom lip with his thumb before kissing it, sucking on it lightly. She moaned and pressed herself closer to him again.

"I think we need to get under the covers, don't you?" She unbuttoned her jeans and slid them off. Next came her blue vest top which she pulled her over head in one swift move. She started to unfasten her bra but Marcus stopped her.

"Let me." He unhooked the bra, slipped the straps down her arms. She turned to face him, naked apart from her panties. Her breasts were full and firm. He placed his hand tentatively on the swell of her breast feeling its warmth.

"Let's get you out of your clothes first. I'm feeling a little underdressed here."

Marcus followed suit, pulling his t-shirt over his head and then took his trousers down. He wasn't wearing underpants as he had none left so his cock sprang free. Abby slipped her panties off and got under the covers, pulling the fur over the top of them. They lay facing each other again. Marcus was apprehensive and he thought he saw the same emotion in Abby's face. He wanted this but only if she did. As if in answer to his unspoken question she took his hand and placed it back on her breast. He caressed it, thumbing her nipple while she sighed and reached down between them, stroking his cock, her fingertips running lightly up and down it, making him twitch with desire.

All the time she was watching him, her chocolate brown eyes boring into him. "Will you touch me?"

Marcus let the hand that was playing with her nipple drift down between them. She lifted her leg over his, resting it over his hip to allow him better access. He caressed her with his fingers, mimicking what she was doing with his cock so that they were stroking each other in unison. Her breathing quickened and so did his, each exhale bringing with it a moan as everything heated up. Marcus was starting to see stars in front of his eyes and he wanted to be inside her so badly but he didn't want to take the lead, because he wasn't sure if that's what she wanted or whether she was happier if they finished each other like this. He didn't have to wait long to find out because she took hold of his cock fully in her hand and guided it so that he was nudging at her entrance. He tested her by pushing in a little and then back out. Her eyes grew wider and she bit her bottom lip as he pushed back in further, going slowly until he was buried inside her. She let out an "oh!"

"Are you okay?"

She nodded. "I'm fine. Keep going."

He pulled almost all the way out and then back in again, rubbing his cock against her clit as he moved. She rotated her hips to help him and together they found a rhythm they liked. Her eyes were locked on his the whole time, just inches away and Marcus found it intensely erotic and intimate. He'd never done this before, never wanted to, but watching Abby was fascinating, seeing her pupils dilate, watching a flush grow on her cheeks, knowing that she was doing the same to him. He could sense her orgasm building already, feel her tighten and then open up to him. He increased the intensity of his thrusts as waves of pleasure started to build from the base of his spine, chasing the meter of his strokes. Suddenly Abby's breathing deepened, her eyes grew wide, and she cried out as she came. She bucked against him and he held her tight as his own orgasm overwhelmed him. They lay together like that, breathing heavily, limbs sweaty until they started to come down. Abby smiled, took a deep breath.

"Wow!"

Marcus kissed her, a long slow deep kiss that he hoped conveyed everything he felt for her then, all his love and desire and gratitude.

He rolled onto his back and Abby snuggled against him, her head resting on his chest. "I love you," he said. "I don't think I can say that enough from now on."

She looked up at him again for a moment before settling back down again. "You don't have to say it all the time, but I'm not complaining."

Her voice was a soft vibration against his chest, her arm heavy and comforting as it lay across him. He kissed her head and let himself drift away, truly contented for the first time in his life. He didn't know what the future would bring, except that it would be hard and he had to face it head on, but with Abby by his side he knew he could do it, one day at a time. He was looking forward to going home, finally.