"You shouldn't be up."

Uttering an impatient sigh, Octavia turned from the table and did her best not to hobble as she moved away from it.

"I'm fine, Lincoln, really," she insisted. He took one look at her hand, clenched tight into a fist at her side, and shook his head.

"No, you're not."

He offered out his arm and she accepted with a roll of her eyes. There was no point in arguing with him. He was about as stubborn as she was, especially when it came to matters of her health. She'd been trying for days now to get up and test out her leg but he was having none of it.

She watched as he removed the dressing and prodded carefully at the edges of the arrow wound.

"See?" she insisted, "I'm fine."

"You're lucky," he said with a frown and left to grab one of the many containers of medicine sitting atop their makeshift table.

You nearly died.

The words hung on the air though neither had spoken them. The arrow had nicked her artery and when he removed it, well, she didn't remember much after that. He said she'd been unconscious for three days and feverish for most of it. From the look on his face when she'd finally opened her eyes, things must have been pretty touch and go. Given the circumstances it was understandable why he was being over-cautious with her now. He was like Bellamy that way - always trying to protect her, even when she was too stubborn and foolish to want it.

Lincoln returned with a jar of salve and began to rub a small amount into the jagged scar on her thigh. The wound was healing, but far slower than either of them would have liked.

"I didn't mean to worry you," she said sincerely, and tried to catch his eye in the dim firelight. "It's just…I spent so much of my life cooped up that sitting down here all day makes me go stir crazy."

He kept his face neutral as his hands expertly wound a fresh bandage around her thigh. She'd come to discover that he was a practiced healer. He knew more about the herbs and plants in the forest, and their various medicinal properties, than she could ever hope to learn in a lifetime. Without him she would not have survived that arrow wound, she was certain of it.

He finished tying the last knot on the bandage and his hands lingered on her thigh, thumbs gently stroking her skin. How many times had he saved her life now? Three? Four? Would there come a day when he would no longer have to? When they could just be together? It seemed like too much to ask. But she wanted it more than she'd wanted anything in her life. She reached out and touched his arm, her hand sliding over the smooth muscles of his forearm.

"Tell me," he said quietly before lifting his eyes to hers. "Tell me about your life before this place."

"Okay," she agreed and was surprised to find no hint of hesitation. She wanted him to know all of it, about The Ark, her mother and The 100. She needed him to. He would never understand otherwise, just how incredibly small her world had been before him.

"I need something to keep my hands busy," she explained, sheepishly glancing down at where her hands were twisting in her lap.

He nodded understandingly and left her side, returning a moment later with a small vessel. She realized once he handed it to her that it was a mortar and pestle. Inside was a small bunch of what looked like bark. Getting the idea, she furrowed her brow and experimentally pounded at the bark with the pestle. Lincoln's hand soon descended over hers, and with an amused look he showed her how to grind the bark down into a powder.

"Right," she said with an embarrassed laugh, "of course."

He slid to the floor beside her then, his presence a quiet reassurance. He didn't say anything and she knew he wouldn't. He wasn't afraid of silence like others were. There were nights when they would sit for hours across the fire from one another, somehow saying nothing and everything all at once.

"Where we lived before coming here, it was called 'The Ark'," she began haltingly, aware of how loud her voice sounded in the dying firelight. "Resources were scarce, so families were only permitted to have one child. My parents had Bellamy, and then they had me."

Her hand stilled a moment as memories washed over her. It was clear that her birth had been unplanned, but her mother had never made her feel unwanted. She used to have a saying: "The things that are meant to happen will happen." Her birth happened because it was meant to, and that was all her mother ever said about it.

Once she was old enough she helped out wherever she could – sewing until her fingers ached, washing up, cleaning their entire quarters from top to bottom – anything so that she wouldn't become a burden. Bellamy and her mom had never made her feel that way, but it didn't matter. She knew that each day she was hidden in those quarters their lives were in jeopardy.

Lincoln turned his head towards her, his dark eyes filled with concern. She exhaled a quiet sigh and resumed the movement of her hands, rhythmically pounding and grinding away at the bark.

"I spent a lot of time hiding under the floor of our home, praying the guards wouldn't think to check there. I was terrified of making even the faintest sound. Sometimes I held my breath so long I would pass out. I'd wake to the feeling of Bellamy pulling me out of my hiding place and his voice in my ear telling me we were safe until the next inspection."

As she spoke the movement of her hands became more forceful, more determined.

"About a year ago there was a party, a dance, and my brother, he…he wanted me to go. I should have said "No" but I'd spent my whole life wondering what the world outside our door looked like. I'd never seen the moon, or the stars, or felt the warmth of the sun on my skin. I'd never even met another living soul except for my mother and brother. I had so many questions, so many things I wanted to know. So I put on that mask and I went with him. It was beautiful, Lincoln, everything I'd hoped it would be and more. That night, for the first time in my life, I felt alive."

She paused to wipe at the tears running down her cheeks with her sleeve and sniffled loudly.

"And just like that it was all over. On The Ark the penalty for having more than one child is death. When the guards discovered me, I was thrown in jail and my mother…"

She swallowed hard, struggling to speak around the sudden lump in her throat. "My mother was executed three days later."

After a long moment she expelled a shaky breath and shook her head. "I never should have gone to that party. I knew the risks. I knew what would happen if I left our quarters, if anyone saw me, but I didn't care! I'd spent my whole life locked up in a windowless cage and I wanted to see the world. I wanted it so badly I was willing to do anything, risk anything, to have it and I did."

Lincoln's hands settled overtop of hers and relieved them of the mortar and pestle. She hadn't realized just how tightly she'd been gripping them until she tried to open her hands and the muscles ached in protest. Tears were coursing down her cheeks and she wiped them away as her breaths came in small, hiccupping gasps.

"They didn't even let me say 'good-bye'. My mother was floated because of me and I'll never be able to tell her how sorry I am."

Her voice broke and Lincoln wordlessly gathered her into his lap, careful of her wounded leg. She hadn't let herself mourn her mother's death before now. Not like this, not the way she needed to. She laid her head against his shoulder, no longer caring if he saw her cry.

"It wasn't your fault," he said evenly, the deep timbre of his voice soothing her. "Octavia, it wasn't your fault."

She wanted to tell him he was wrong, but her throat was too tight for words of any sort to emerge. Instead she closed her eyes and clutched him tighter, shaking her head against his chest.

"I always knew you were stronger than the rest," he mused and she could hear the hint of a smile behind his words. "Now I know where you get it from."

He held her while her tears slowly dried and her breathing returned to normal. She sat quietly in his arms, following the lines and sharp edges of the tattoos visible above the top of his shirt with her finger. When she felt the steady rhythm of his heart beneath her hand, she paused and pulled in a steadying breath.

"Why me, Lincoln?" she wondered. "Why did you choose me?"

His hand ran up and down her arm in a soothing gesture and he pressed a kiss to the top of her head.

"I was there," he said finally, his voice soft. "I was watching when you stepped out of the pod. You were the first of your people and you feared nothing. I saw the excitement and joy on your face and it'd been so long since I'd felt that. You gave me hope that things could be different."

"And here I thought it was my good looks that drew you in," she quipped with a sniffle and a laugh.

Lincoln's chest rumbled and he tilted his head back to look down at her. "Those helped, too."

"You've given up a lot to help me, to help us. I don't want…" She hesitated and looked down, watching intently as her fingers toyed with the material of his shirt.

With a finger under her chin he tilted her head upwards until she was looking him in the eye. There was a tenderness in his gaze she hadn't expected and it momentarily stole her breath away. His lips lifted at the corners into a faint, understanding smile.

"I haven't done anything I didn't want to do, Octavia. To me you are worth any risk, any sacrifice."

Heat rushed to her cheeks and her heart fluttered inside her chest. She didn't doubt the truth of his words. How could she when he looked at her like that?

His lips were warm and soft against hers. He kissed her slowly, thoroughly, so that there could be no question as to his intentions. She ran her hands up his chest until they clasped around his neck and angled her body against his. So, she thought, this is what it feels like to be wanted. His mouth broke from hers and descended to the column of her throat, mapping a fiery trail towards her shoulder. She gasped and closed her eyes, a smile hanging on her lips. This is what it feels like to be truly free.

Pulling back, she cradled his face between her hands, studying his angular features in the flickering firelight. Her thumbs ghosted over his cheeks and then across his full bottom lip, where the warmth of his breath tickled her skin.

"Will you promise to remember me?" she asked, her voice trembling ever so slightly with a hopeful lilt. "When I'm gone, will you promise to never forget me?"

His fingers flexed against her sides, tightening their grip ever so slightly. He pulled her closer, his eyes searching hers.

"Always."

So, she thought with a smile as her eyes drifted closed and her forehead touched his, this is what it feels like to be in love.

Author's Note: After marathon watching The 100 I absolutely fell in love with these two and had to write something. My muse cooked this one up while I was chopping olives for lunch (seriously!). I haven't read the books so I do apologize if any of the characterizations are way off.

This is my first attempt at anything for The 100 or Linctavia so any feedback would be excellent!

Thank you kindly,

Langus