Chapter 2
Guilt
She sleeps badly. Barely getting enough to tide her over. She wakes earlier than she had planned and is surprised to find him up and dressed, quietly padding around their tent, trying not to disturb her.
"You're awake already?" She asks, her voice hoarse as she rubs sleep from her eyes.
He turns to her, startled by her sudden interruption, "I'm sorry, did I-" He begins, looking abashed.
"No, no." She reassures him quickly, pushing herself into a sitting position, "How long have you been awake?" She asks blearily.
He shrugs unconcernedly, "A while." He ventures helpfully.
"Are you okay?" She asks quietly.
Now that she's come to herself a little more and taken a proper look at him she wonders if he's slept at all. It wouldn't surprise her if he hadn't.
"Fine, Abby." He mutters distractedly, not looking at her as he answers, poring over something in the corner that she can't see.
She stands and pads over to him, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder for a moment. He glances round at her but she's already turned away and started poking around the tent for some clothes, deciding not to push him.
She finds them neatly stacked and organised in a corner of the tent. Smiling, she grabbed her things, "Avert your eyes." She ordered flatly, beginning to wriggle out of her clothes.
"What- oh." He begins, not really listening to start with and turning to her to clarify and then flushing and staring determinedly at the canvas wall in front of him.
"I could have left, Abby." He mutters irritably to the wall.
"It's fine." She breaks in, rolling her eyes at him. Years of emergency quarantine showers and peeling off ruined scrubs as soon as she had the chance and the simple disregard that most people tended to have with doctors in general had stripped her of her modesty a while ago and she was not about to waste time pretending otherwise.
"What are you working on?" She asks casually, her back to him, partly to distract him before he imploded and partly to sate her own growing curiosity.
"Maps." He informs the tent, clearing his throat and providing a more thorough explanation a moment later when he realises that assessment isn't entirely helpful, "Before we left I pulled all of the information about the area we were going to land in. Just in case."
"Good call." She says, stepping over to stand beside him and peering around them at the detailed maps spread out in front of him.
He takes a slight step back to give her a better look. She runs her hands over the thin black lines that sketch beneath her fingertips.
Clarke...
Marcus pulls her from her thoughts as he says, "We have work to do before it's time to go." She agrees.
They split up.
He takes a deep breath emerging from the tent. He closes his eyes. Allows himself a moment. Then strides to the perimeter and summons his men to him. Their replacements appear on cue a few minutes later. He orders half of the group to get some rest before they do anything, all of them look like they're about to drop and that's the last thing he wants.
In addition to guard duties he wants them to build-up defences around their camp. Most have agreed that it's a good place to settle for long enough that it seems like a good idea. He suggests trenches at least to begin with. And to leave scope for the construction of a wall at some point.
He also requests that anyone who can be trained to defend themselves should be. Guns where possible, knives and hand-to-hand at minimum and to start working out a plan to make that a possibility. He moves among the camp, leaving them to their task, singling out people and finding things to keep them occupied. Stock checks. Put in place a rationing system. Finding ways to produce what they need when their food runs out.
Once he's satisfied, he goes in search of Abby.
She watches him head to the edge of camp while she turns and moves towards its heart. She finds Sinclair and takes him aside. He's proven himself these last few months. She trusts him. And his judgement. She explains her thoughts, her desire to re-establish communication with the Ark while they can. And to set up a system in camp to allow the guards to talk to those in Command.
He agrees that it's a good idea and goes on to quickly suggest a few things off the top of his head for her approval. She cuts him off, smiling, then tells him to run with it. He opens his mouth to ask her how and she tells him he's in charge of this. Do what he thinks is right.
She suggests that he takes a group back to the station by the lake and pick it clean. He can have as many people as he needs; the more the better, keep them busy. Strip anything he thinks he can use; the station itself as well, for more robust shelters, see what he can do with what he has.
She leaves him happily discussing ideas with Julia and heads back to the tent in search of Marcus.
"I'm coming."
He groans inwardly. He was expecting it. He had been expecting it since he had first pointed out the smoke in the distance to her. But he would have given almost anything to be wrong on this occasion.
"Abby-" He begins, faltering when he turns and catches that look in her eyes, fire burning through them, her jaw set, stubborn, determined, warning him not to bother trying to fight her on this.
"I'm coming, Marcus." She repeats stoutly. Daring him to challenge her. Daring him to say no to her. Daring him to try and stop her.
He pauses. Considering his options. "Can you give us a minute?" He murmurs quietly to the little party that surrounds them. It fragments at his request and breaks away, giving them some space and some privacy.
He moves in close to her and leans down to hiss, "This is a bad idea, Abby."
"I don't care." She tells him flatly, "This is my decision, Marcus." She growls firmly. "And I've made it."
He wonders if there's any point in arguing with her. Telling her that she's being stupid, that it's dangerous, that they can't lose her, they need her. That it's almost selfish of her. Because what if something happened to her? She's their doctor. And like it or not, these people are relying on her. He can't let her put herself at risk.
"If you find another station, if they've suffered casualties, you're going to need someone who can help take care of them, you're going to need a doctor." She tells him firmly, her eyes locking with his, grim determination settling in them.
He studies her quietly, watching her grow more restless and impatient with every second he let slip by and go to waste, waiting until he's sure she's about to snap and storm off on him he murmurs, "We both know that this is about more than being there for survivors of other stations."
She stares at him, "What do you mean?"
"Clarke." He breathes quietly.
Her stomach flips at the sound of her daughter's name. She closes her eyes. "You think the source of the smoke we saw from the lake might be the 100's camp." He says, softly, in a tone that implies he's telling not asking. He knows her too well for it to be anything else. And he saw the way she was looking at the maps earlier. He knows what she's thinking. And he's right. "That's why you're so determined to go with us."
She couldn't deny it. She couldn't lie to him. She wouldn't. She's not sure how to play this with him now. To just tell him that she's going. And to dare him to try and stop her. To appeal to him. To keep pushing.
"You're not a soldier, Abby." He says firmly. She rounds on him, ready to snap at him and tell him that unless martial law takes control of this camp over her dead body then that doesn't mean a damn thing. But something about his tone and something in his eyes when she faces him makes her pause and let him finish.
"You do as I tell you." He growls firmly, "You follow orders. Whatever they may be. I can't let anything happen to you. I won't. Your safety is my responsibility. You're my responsibility. Do you understand?" She nods firmly. If those are his terms. She'll take them. Gladly. All she wants is to see Clarke again. And she accepts that there are risks involved with that.
She ducks inside the tent to gather what she needs for the trip. He sighs as she slips into the tent. Trying to reassure himself that he's made the right decision.
Ideally, he would have tied her to a tree and left her there until he returned. He would at least have known that way that she would be safe.
Given the fact that they now slept in the same tent however, he could not have said the same about him afterwards.
But she would have been alright.
He consoled himself a little in thinking that, at least this way he could keep an eye on her and have half a chance of keeping her safe. He dragged his fingers through his hair, silently cursing her, but something like fondness stole through him for a moment when she emerged from the tent behind them, grim but determined. He'd never had a hope in Hell of convincing her to stay behind.
"Are you ready?" She glances up at him, even as he turns to look down at her and their eyes meet. Anticipation and adrenaline and anxiety flooding her body all at once. She takes several deep breaths, trying to calm herself and avoid getting her hopes up.
But she can't. It's Clarke. She can feel it in her gut. She's always been a woman of science. Of facts. Of logic. But years of doing the job that she did had taught her to trust her instincts and her gut. And her gut was telling her that her daughter had something to do with that smoke.
It had sunk into her bones; into her very soul, and from the second she had seen it. She knew.
"I'm coming, Clarke." She whispered the words under her breath, a prayer from her; a promise to her daughter. She feels Marcus' hand on her arm, gentle but firm at the same time.
He could feel her shaking slightly beneath his touch. Trembling, as though a current was shivering through her body, "Stay close to me." He murmured quietly.
She nodded her agreement once more and, with her by his side, he led the little search party out of camp and into the thick forest around them.
He had insisted to her that this forest would keep them safe. That the trees would offer them protection and shelter them. But unease crept through her at every opportunity.
She tensed whenever the wind stirred the branches of the trees around them. Oppressive statues, guardians of secrets that they had no right to know.
Marcus felt it too.
Though he reassured her whenever she jumped at the sounds that surrounded them. He was tense and ready. For what she had no idea. But she was glad that she was with him. After what seems like a lifetime, the trees begin thin around them.
Glancing around he calls for them to stop and rest for a few minutes. He watches as they slump down gratefully. He hands her a water bottle as she sinks down beside him, breathing hard. She accepts it. And for a while things are quiet. And calm.
The faint dawn light manages to filter through the trees around them. And he dared to let himself relax for a moment. And savour the moment. He moves them on again just as he feels like she's beginning to get her breath back.
They've been walking for a little while when he says quietly, "How are you holding up?"
She blinks up at him in surprise, "What do you mean?" She asks, puzzled.
"Seeing Clarke again." He says, "Are you nervous? You didn't exactly part on the best of terms."
She considers this for a moment wondering what else he's picked up on without her registering. She's not sure how to answer him. So much of their time on the Ark was taken up second guessing each other and feeding each other half truths and playing games. And it exhausted her. They have no time or energy for that anymore. And she finds the truth spilling from her before she's aware of what's happening.
"I'm scared." She whispers, "She's my only daughter. She, she's all I have left. And she's been down here alone. I haven't seen her...And she despises me." She takes a deep breath, trying to steady herself, her voice shaking as she said that. He offers her a hand to help her down a steep bank. She takes it and continues, "So I'm scared. I'm scared that she'll never forgive me. That I've lost her." She hesitates, "But I have a chance now." She murmurs, "A chance to put things right between us. I get to see her again." She whispers, a sad smile tugging at her lips, "Hold her again. See her smile."
She pauses for a moment, letting herself get lost in memories for a second. She takes several deep breaths before she whispers, "I would do anything for that." She says, "Just, just to see her again. To know that she's okay. Anything. Anything just to see her again."
There are tears in her eyes, she realises, too late, and she tries to wipe them away before he sees. But he's already fished a handkerchief from his pocket for her. She tugs it from him and dabs at her eyes, avoiding him.
"I'm sorry." She mutters awkwardly, not meeting his gaze.
"It's alright." He says, his tone surprisingly soft.
It's not a side that she sees of him all that often. It's not a side that anyone sees of him all that often. But it suits him somehow. It feels more like him than anything else.
"She's my daughter." She growls suddenly, anger flaring through her without warning or explanation, releasing her as quickly as it had taken hold and she whispers, "She's my daughter. And the only time I've held her in, in so long was when she was being taken away from me."
He gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze. She nodded in thanks. Grateful for the contact. It had been too long. Too long since she'd had anyone reach out to her like that. She welcomed it. She needed it.
"I have to find her, Marcus." She breathed, her hands curling into fists, her nails biting into her palm, sending sharp pulses of pain through her nerves, "I have to."
"You will." Is all he says.
It's enough.
"How did you know?" She asks quietly. Glancing up at him.
"You're too stubborn to ever not get what you want. I've learned that by now." He tells her, smiling at her.
"No, I just...How did you know? That, that it was bothering me, that...That I needed someone to talk to."
She hadn't even known half of what she'd been bottling up recently until it had all come spilling out of her a few moments ago.
He took his time in answering her before he said simply, "I know you, Abby."
He moves away from her then, deciding to give her a little space and time to herself. He checks up on the others in their group, rations out their food and reminds them of the dangers of using guns out here. The noise attracting attention, the potential for ricochet. It's standard stuff. He knows it. They know it. But it gives him the opportunity to give her a little air.
He's drawn back to her after a little while of resisting mounting urges to check-up on her, glancing towards her so often that his neck begins to knot. Once he finally catches her eye and they share a quick look, he returns to her and falls back into step with her once more.
She watches him scan the area around them and sighs inwardly. Right now, the greatest danger to him isn't some unseen attack from out of sight; it's himself. Which it generally tends to be. She knows him too.
She rummages in her pack for a minute then pokes him in the ribs with an energy bar, "Eat." She commands firmly, thrusting it at him.
"I'm fine, Abby." He murmurs tersely.
She rounds on him, cutting him off and stepping in front of him, placing her hand flatly on her chest and forcing him to stop.
"No." She growls, softly, "You're not."
He's a Hell of a long way from fine. He's gaunt and pale and distant. More so than usual. She's beginning to get worried about him.
"You're not fine, Marcus." She snarls, losing patience with arguing with him on this.
He seems to sense the incoming tirade and clearly doesn't want an audience for it because he rest of their party move on, and move on quickly, following a few brusque signals from him.
"You're not okay." She repeats, trying to keep her voice level and steady, "You haven't been okay since the cull." She says firmly, "Far from it." She snaps at him, her voice breaking, anger and frustration boiling over into her words.
"You don't, you don't understand, Abby." He breathes, shaking his head and lowering his gaze, his quiet tone driving her crazy.
He never passes up an opportunity for a slanging match with her, the chance to burn off a little tension with her, to draw out whatever feelings they've both been bottling up for too long. It ended up being cathartic. They'd seek each other out. Find something that they knew would push the other's buttons, get under their skin, piss them off, and needle away until they finally snapped. And that's what she wanted. That's what she wanted from him now, and she was pushing every button she could think of to provoke a response he wasn't giving her what she wanted. The one time that she needed him to.
She changes tact.
"I don't understand?" She hisses, taking a step forwards, placing herself almost offensively close to him, "What don't I understand, Marcus?" She demands, her voice shaking, trying to bait him into a reaction.
It works.
"You don't understand how it feels, Abby." He snarls at her.
"How what feels?" She presses, poking her finger into his chest, riling him up. His eyes flash dangerously but she refuses to back down.
"How it feels to have the blood of three hundred and twenty people on your hands." He growls at her, taking a step forwards, their bodies jolting together, but she stands her ground, facing him, breathing hard but holding firm, as he goes on, trembling, his voice barely above a whisper, "Three hundred and twenty people, Abby. Three hundred and twenty people died. Because of me. Because of what I did."
He pitches away from her breathing hard. She gives him a moment. She knew that. She knew that the cull had been weighing on his mind and tearing him apart for weeks now but nothing she had tried before, the gentle persuasion, quietly bringing it up and alluding to it, even when it was just the two of them, had made a slight bit of difference. He deflected and changed the subject or talked around it until he could avoid her altogether.
"You have no idea, Abby." He whispered harshly, his voice cracking, "You have no idea what it's like, you don't understand, you will never understand what it's like to have people look at you and see nothing but a monster."
He lifts his eyes and meets hers and she can feel the pain and the grief and the guilt that he's been carrying around with him for so long. But there isn't a trace of self-pity in his tone or his face. Nothing but harsh, stark facts that are destroying him, And she hated him for that. For making it sound so simple. When it was anything but.
She stepped towards him again, their faces only inches apart. "My own daughter looks at me and sees a monster, Marcus." She whispers dangerously, steel in her voice despite the fact that she can't stop it shaking. "I understand." She snarls, "I understand and I wish to God I didn't but I do." She said, she can feel hot tears sting at her eyes and she doesn't bother to wipe them away. Her own demons have been dragged to the surface now, and there's no quieting any of them. "My husband is dead because of a decision that I made." She says, her shoulders shaking as she tries to control herself enough to say, "My husband's blood is on my hands. The father of my child is gone because of me. So don't tell me that I don't understand." She growls, advancing on him, daring to look away from her, to break eye contact with her now, to step back from her. He doesn't. He never does. He never will. "I do." She chokes, "I do. I understand, perfectly, but you...This has to stop." She tells him fiercely, "You have to stop this, Marcus."
"Stop what, Abby?" He demands, his temper still fraying despite her outburst, "Trying to keep us all alive?" He pushes.
"No, trying to get yourself killed." She screams at him, losing whatever self-restraint she had had as he finally pushes too far, "Thinking that you're disposable." She growls at him in frustration, "Walking through this place alone for the sake of a few tents and torches." She goes on, seeing him open his mouth to snap at her and cutting across him before he has the chance.
"You offered to die for these people, Marcus." She whispers, shaking her head, her eyes boring into his, trying to make him listen, trying to make him actually hear her, "You offered to stay behind and sacrifice yourself without a second thought. Because you feel guilty. Because you think that you deserve that. And I get that. Okay." She says quickly, anticipating him biting back and stopping him, "I get it, Marcus." She murmurs softly, her body shaking, "But you can't." She whispers, closing her eyes for a moment, opening them again to meet his as she murmurs, "You can't do that to me again. Not down here." She says, her voice snapping, "That's not fair." She tells him flatly.
"I can't do this on my own." She says, "You said you needed me. Before. When you asked me to be joint Chancellor with you. You said you needed me. We need each other. I can't do this on my own anymore than you can." She tells him. And it's true. They both know that it's true. "If you to want to help these people," She breathes, taking a step forwards, praying that she's finally making progress with him, that some of this is penetrating the thick wall of stubbornness that cloaks him, as ever present as the worn black jacket he has on, "If you want to settle whatever debt it is that you think you owe them then you be here for here for them. You're no use to them dead." It sounds harsh, but sometimes that's all he'll listen to. She goes on, her tone softening considerably as she breathes, "They need you, Marcus." She says simply, adding without thinking, "I need you." His eyes meet hers once more and she dares to think for a moment that he might actually be listening to this.
"Do you understand?" She demands, urgently, reaching forwards and taking his hand between hers, giving it a firm squeeze.
He opens his mouth to answer her, without having any idea of what he's going to say to her, sure he'll think of something, but he's distracted by something behind him.
He turns sharply, placing a hand on her shoulder, keeping her in place, his eyes scanning their surroundings. He shifts the gun in his hands to his shoulder, his finger feathering the trigger.
"Marcus." She growls, irritated by his sudden disregard, not having heard anything out of the ordinary.
He raises a hand to make her stop. He feels her freeze behind him, realising that something's wrong.
"Stay behind me." He orders tersely. Reaching back he grabs her wrist and tugs her closer to him, shielding her body with his own.
"Marcus, what-"She begins, sounding more confused and frustrated than anything else.
"Shh." He growls, warningly.
He feels her tense behind him, her fingers curling tightly around the back of his jacket, pulling him to her, trying to tug him back. He steadies himself, flicking the safety off of the gun, waiting, ignoring her insistent efforts to make him move to safety. Waiting. Tensed. Feeling her shaking behind him. Quietly murmuring to her. Telling her that everything would be okay.
"Marcus-" She murmurs uncertainly, shifting against him. He catches her arm, glancing back at her, worried.
She steps out from behind him.
"Abby no!"
A/N: Thank you for your feedback so far and as always thank you for reading. Any further feedback will be greatly appreciated.