A.N.: Hi guys! So, I'm a little devastated that the peeps on The 100 weren't smart enough to figure out another way besides, you know, wholesale murder. *And people have been ripping Finn for his little mantrum – that was 16 people. Not over 300*. I'm wondering whether Clarke will actually seek out Lexa in the Grounder capital, in a long-winded plan to exact revenge for her betrayal, but part of me worries with the three diverging storylines – Murphy's, Clarke's and Bellamy and the guys' – how are we going to get decent Bellamy screen-time next season? Are they going to spread things too thin? Are they going to have to put Bellamy and Lincoln's arms in the same shot? *Bites knuckle in worry, secretly lusting after the possibilities.

As is my habit with my fanfictions, I like to 'correct' what I don't like in canon. Therefore, things will change pretty dramatically from the show, only because I like realism in my stories, I like plot and characterisation etc. and I like a good few twists, some humour, a little gushy romanticness and Bellamy's arms to lighten the mood. And I like to show up the characters I don't really like (i.e. Clarke; personally, Monty and Jasper's self-fives and cake-consuming scenes hold me more captivated than she does – plus, let's not forget she sanctioned Lincoln's torture. Oh, the pretties! Fret not, I'll kiss it better!)

Radioactive

04

New Order

Necessity was indeed the mother of invention. It was an ancient saying but whoever had said it had obviously been a prophet; how they managed it, none of them knew, but somehow, they fashioned a fire, burning hot enough to make the latch of the seatbelt buckle Dragan prised off Clarke's salvaged pack glow – Jasper screamed when Clarke cauterised the wound but he passed out pretty quickly after that, from blood-loss, his adrenaline crashing again. Monty looked devastated, but he had Octavia hopping after him trying to source natural antiseptics and for a long time he helped Finn carry Jasper through the woods, back toward the drop-ship, when the hike proved too much for Jasper, even determined as he had been not to be an imposition on the rest of them.

"With Mount Weather off-limits, we're screwed," Clarke muttered, eyeing the trio – Octavia, Monty and Finn – helping to carry a prone Jasper as they staggered on their way. It wasn't an easy task, Dragan was exhausted from her shift helping to carry the skinny chemist, and her back and shoulders were aching, her face was on fire, her feet were screaming at her, she felt bloated and generally pissed off and couldn't stop thinking about how the others had all just run away.

"We'll make do," Dragan said, with a surety Clarke would have loved to feel herself.

"We have no medical supplies, no food, how're we gonna survive?"

"How? Because the alternative is dying. Most of the 100 are far too stubborn to do exactly what the Council expects, and just die down here," Dragan yawned widely.

"Stubbornness alone isn't enough to keep a person alive."

"Isn't it? Half those kids are orphans; and the other half have parents who don't care, that's why they were in the Sky-Box to begin with," Dragan said quietly, eyeing Monty. A tiny fraction were truly privileged and had two parents who loved them – they were just teenagers having fun and forgetting the details, because they were young and felt invincible. Monty was one of those kids, so was Jasper; they were two very privileged kids. "What else do they have to motivate them?"

"It still doesn't change the fact we don't have any food or medicine."

"Clarke," Dragan sighed, stopping to turn, brushing her hand against Clarke's arm so she stopped too. "It tells us nothing new and does nobody any good for you to keep reminding us that we have nothing. We all know that." Clarke pursed her lips, a muscle ticking in her jaw; Dragan knew Clarke was irritated by her, but did she care? No. She knew the 100 better than anyone, she knew they were perfectly capable of extraordinary things, unless someone like Clarke kept impressing on them that they had no skills, no intelligence, no survival instincts or creativity. Lack of faith, of confidence, was debilitating. "It's a shame they didn't let you in amongst the general pop. Might've learned a thing or two about your fellow hooligans. We're more capable than you think. You lack a proper Sky-Box education, it's a shame."

"And what would I have gotten out of a Sky-Box education?" Clarke sneered.

"That stick removed from your ass, for starters." Dragan gave her a very cool look. "You might want to try dialling it back a bit. We all know you were one of the privileged on the Ark. There's no need to rub it in everyone's faces. Not down here. We're all up the same shit creek without a paddle. You were lumped in with the rest of us the day they put you in solitary."

"I'm not one of you – I've never stolen anything, I've never killed anyone –"

"Well, don't knock it till you've tried it; you may get a taste for it," Dragan said lightly, walking on, after pausing to examine an extraordinary flower blossoming from a shiny-leafed bush; great silky-soft petals billowed around a yellowish centre just visible amongst the frilly edges, the blossom was the size of her spread hand. It was stunning. It was amazing to her that these stunning flowers were just everywhere, growing at random, surprises dotted amongst the herbs and ferns and berries. Everything looked green and alive and yet, looking more closely, it was wonderful how much of it was edible, if one knew it was. She had filled every pocket with figs and plums and berries. It wouldn't be enough to fill their stomachs, given there were a hundred of them, but it was a start.

"A taste for what, stealing or murder?"

"Either," Dragan shrugged. There was something tiny, bristly and bright blue, wiggling on one of the shining leaves. It wasn't… She was sure it was something called a caterpillar, and she focused on trying to coax it to wiggle onto her finger. It did, and as she and Clarke walked on, she couldn't stop staring at it. A caterpillar. This tiny odd little thing would grow into a butterfly. "In my experience, both are synonymous with survival."

"Hey, guys, that's the mark I made," Finn called back excitedly; he was pointing to something carved crudely into the trunk of a tree, freshly scored through bright green moss, to the paler wood beneath the crusty, gnarled exterior.

"What does that mean?"

"Means we're about a mile from camp," Finn grinned. "Almost there, buddy."

"I… I think I can make it back," Jasper said softly. He looked pale, but no more than an exhausted Octavia.

"Yeah? You sure?" Finn asked, glancing back down at Jasper, who nodded meekly. Dragan frowned down at him. It must mean a lot to Jasper not to be seen as weak in front of the 100 – something Dragan had ensured he knew when he had entered the Sky-Box; half the kids could sniff out meekness and would draw blood with a viciousness that staggered. She had told Jasper, and Monty, to keep their heads held high, and be themselves; within a week they'd made friends with a good portion of the Sky-Box inmates and Monty had become notorious for his contraband still Dragan had hooked him up with through her black-market dealings.

"I think it's best we carry you, Jasper," she said quietly, reaching down to brush the hair from his sticky forehead.

"Why?" he asked, fidgeting.

Dragan glanced around at the others, then glanced back down at Jasper. "If the others see you walking back in, they won't take the threat of the Grounders seriously. We all need to take it seriously." Jasper weighed that, sighed deeply, and nodded.

"Okay," he said softly. "Alright. I'll let you carry me into camp. But I wanna walk a bit, I feel bad."

"You feel bad because you had a spear shoved through your chest-cavity," Dragan reminded him, earning a tremulous smile. He did look very pale. "We'll feel bad if you get worse because we made you walk."

"You're not making me walk, I want to. Finn's only a bit less scrawny than me," Jasper said, and Finn chuckled. "And Thor Monty is not!"

"I'm really much more of a Tony Stark," Monty smiled; he'd been tense most of the walk home, constantly wandering off when he spotted patches of promising-looking foliage. His pockets were bulging like Dragan's, though his were full of medicinal herbs, flowers and roots.

"Tony Stark," Dragan frowned. She'd heard that name before. "That's Game of Thrones, right?" Only the first book, and a handful of episodes from season two of the TV show had survived the Cataclysm; the library on the Ark kept the surviving books locked up tight under climate-controlled conditions, and as for the shows, they were played at midnight to restricted audiences purely for the gratuitous sex-scenes. Like Harry Potter, Game of Thrones was lost to the Arkadians; a virus had wiped out the digital archives ten years after the Ark combined, and the last of the Grounders had passed on the stories, but over time they had become warped and disjointed.

Monty and Jasper both chuckled. "That's Iron Man, Dragan. Avengers?"

"Whatever," she shrugged. "Come on. We've got a mile to go, we'll be back before dark if we keep going… Is it me, or is the ground…squashier?"

"I think… I think it must have rained here," Monty said, stooping to examine something.

"Rain?" Dragan breathed. She frowned. "But we've not been that far away, we should've gotten some too, right?"

"Not necessarily," Monty said softly. "There wasn't much cloud-cover where we were, and the tree-canopy was much thicker. Closer to the drop-ship it's much more open. That's how you burned your face so badly." Dragan raised her hands to her face; it had been burning all day, as if she had rinsed it with acid. Monty said he could knock her up something to help, once they got back to the drop-ship and he could fashion a pestle and mortar. Whatever they were.

"Well, at least the others might've gotten water," she sighed.

The last leg of the journey back to the drop-ship was probably the hardest, only because they knew it was the very last stretch. It was also reaching the hottest part of the day, the sun almost directly above them, stinging the backs of their necks and the tips of their noses and ears. The entire world seemed to be thriving with vitality, making the same kinds of noises Dragan had heard yesterday, the chirps, the birdsong, the buzzing, rustling, even louder than yesterday, nature luxuriating in the rain that gave everything life; birds swooped in and out of the trees, and on their walk back they had seen little furry creatures darting up the trunks of trees, long fluffy tails whipping behind them, or larger ones with long ears and tiny white tails darting into burrows. They moved too quickly to notice many details, but some of the birds had been blue, some had been gorgeous black-and-white, the black iridescent like an oil-spill, some had been tiny and there were probably more animals around that they just hadn't seen, and Dragan didn't know enough about animals to even guess what they were, but an hour's discussion had settled the dispute, that the little furry things that climbed trees were squirrels, and rabbits lived in burrows. They were also good to eat.

Dragan had wondered aloud if there were still chickens. They would be amazing to have at the drop-ship. She'd never had eggs, none of them, not even Clarke and Wells, ever had. But Monty said they were an amazing source of protein and as long as they didn't let a rooster amongst the hens, they'd have unfertilised eggs. People used to eat them for breakfast. A girl could dream.

She had her pockets full of figs, pears, plums, artichokes, herbs and edible flowers, seeds and roots – Monty had discovered a patch of carrots, and Finn had loaded up his pockets and Clarke's pack with "ears" of corn, summer squash, peppers and as many melons as Clarke would carry. They'd all stripped off their top-layers as the sun had started to scald, and remembering where the patches of fruit and vegetables were on their journey, had picked the ripe fruits and zucchinis, using their sweatshirts and jackets as makeshift bags. It was more than any of them had ever had. Certainly only the privileged ever got fresh fruit and vegetables; in the sick-bay sometimes people received dried fruits for nutritional value, but you had to be on the verge of death, with a hope for recovery, to receive a ration of hot vegetable broth.

Her legs were screaming by the time the drop-ship and the first few kids came into view; by the time they carried Jasper to the ship and half the 100 had gathered around, her legs were trembling, sweat was pouring from all of them, and Dragan instantly envied the guys the ability to strip off their shirts, as the majority had. She saw tell-tale signs of sunburn on some of them, and felt better about her stinging face. The girls had rolled their undershirts up to below their busts, sleeves rolled up, lolling on the grass, shrieking with laughter as they flirted with the boys, cheering on a game of keep-away going on between a group of guys, and everywhere, kids were smiling and laughing. It was amazing what sunshine and warmth did to people, coupled with a fresh rainfall that had been collected in a makeshift trough in the shade to keep it cool.

Collecting water seemed to be the only thing the others had done, but Dragan wasn't surprised, or annoyed. Much as she might have liked lolling about doing absolutely nothing but basking in the sunshine, she had wanted to explore, to stretch her legs and see every extraordinary thing. It also meant she knew where there was food, where water could be sourced, where there were a few dangers, where medicine could be obtained. She even knew where rabbits lived, if she could figure out a way to be fast enough to catch one for food.

Their arrival went largely ignored by the biggest group of kids gathered by the ship; they were focused intently on Wells, and Murphy. As Finn and Monty struggled to pick through a route down the slope of the root-infested hill back down to the drop-ship, guided by Octavia, Dragan strode forward, using the others for balance as they did nothing but watch Wells dodge the vicious swipe of a knife in Murphy's hand.

The older Bellamy, hair tousled, looking like he'd just thrown his t-shirt on, chest heaving, was stood with his fingers curled over his hips, face solemn and at the same time full of anticipation, watching the two boys.

"This is for my father," Murphy hissed, lunging at Wells, who moved so quickly Dragan barely processed how he managed to grab Murphy, spin him and clamp him to Wells' front with a knife pressed to his throat. Dragan raised an eyebrow, highly impressed. She knew he had had Cadet training, had been one of the best of his class; she'd made sure to find that out when he'd been arrested a week ago, but until now he'd not had to prove himself to any of the others.

"Looks like we're late for the party," she said coldly, eyeing Bellamy, who turned and blinked, looking surprised. She eyed Wells and Murphy.

Wells scanned the faces behind Dragan, noticed Clarke struggling down the slope, and released Murphy in a move that spun him away on unsteady feet. When he righted himself, Murphy growled and lunged for Wells – Dragan slid into his path, locking eyes with him; he hadn't expected her to be there, didn't know what to do next. Unfazed by his glare, Dragan gave him a cold look, turning it on Wells next. It was the look that said, Don't. That look voided the need to say anything at all.

"Octavia!" Bellamy suddenly noticed his sister hobbling down the slope. "Are you –"

"What the hell happened?" Wells had suddenly strode forward, already picking his way up the slope to aid Finn and Monty, still carrying Jasper. Clarke had cauterised his wound and Monty had made a poultice, but even so old blood had blossomed across the fabric of Jasper's Earth Day t-shirt and dried there.

"We were attacked," Clarke announced breathlessly.

"Attacked? By what?"

"Not what. Who," Finn corrected darkly. "Turns out, when the last man from the ground died on the Ark, he wasn't the last Grounder."

"There are people down here," Dragan said, yawning widely. She was exhausted, and by the look of things, it was going to be a long time before bed. "People who've claimed – very subtly – Mount Weather as their terr'tory." She indicated Jasper with a delicate point of her finger.

"Subtle," Bellamy scoffed, eyeing Jasper with a hint of concern.

"As a spear through the chest," Dragan said, pulling a plum out of her pocket and starting to munch, making a sound of surprise and delight as juice exploded down her chin. Several pairs of eyes were on her like a hawk.

"A spear thrown with pinpoint accuracy over three-hundred feet," Finn added, because it wasn't terrifying enough to know they'd been attacked in the first place.

"Everything our people thought they knew about the Cataclysm is wrong. People survived down here after the bombs," Clarke exclaimed. "The good news is, that means we can survive too. The radiation won't kill us."

"Yeah. Bad news is, the Grounders will," Finn said quietly, but the crowd was so quiet everyone heard him.

"Will he survive?" Wells asked, nodding at Jasper.

"He will," Dragan said, with certainty. "Clarke cauterised the wound; Monty's a whiz finding natural remedies, as long as we keep infection away, Jasper will be able to pitch in with his chemistry knowledge."

"Where's your wristband?" Clarke said, scowling at Wells' arm, suddenly seizing his wrist. Wells pulled her hands away and glared at Bellamy.

"Ask him." With a dreadful feeling in the pit of their stomachs, the guys glanced at Bellamy, who for a split-second looked contrite – before his defences flared and he wouldn't back down in front of kids it seemed to Dragan, he was set on becoming leader to.

"How many?" Clarke asked quietly, a dangerous edge to her voice.

"Twenty-four and counting," Murphy said triumphantly; he looked awful, his beating from Wells already showing, a bloody nose, split lip, blood trickling from his hairline, his eye awfully bruised and his cheek split. Clarke didn't know how to process this for a second.

"You idiots," she whispered. "Life-support on the Ark is failing. That's why they brought us down here. They need to know the ground is survivable again and we need their help against whoever is out there. If you take off your wristbands you're not just killing them. You're killing us."

After what Clarke had told them on their hike, about the Ark, life-support and her father's execution, her belief in Wells' betrayal, Dragan had new appreciation for why they were here, and much as she loathed the institution of the Council and the Chancellor, she knew they were roles created by their society itself, their people nourished the monster that gave them power – and the people who sat on the Council had to make the harsh decisions and take people's abuse with grace. She also knew they could have had a lot worse for leaders; and if it hadn't been Jaha, they would be condemning whoever else had been voted into the Chancellor's position.

"We're stronger than you think," Bellamy declared, after a heartbeat's hesitation that flickered across his face, glancing at the crowd. "Don't listen to her. She's one of the privileged. If they come down, she'll have it good. How many of you can say the same?! We can take care of ourselves! That wristband on your arm, it makes you a prisoner. We are not prisoners anymore. They say they'll forgive your crimes – I say, you are not criminals!" Dragan turned to glare at Bellamy; he was playing a very dangerous game. And by the look on Wells' face, he knew it too. "You're fighters, survivors! The Grounders should worry about us!"

Dragan exhaled softly over the ruckus he was creating, gathering support, people cheering. She put her fingers to her lips and let out a piercing whistle that rang around the wood, silencing everyone, making Bellamy, the closest to her, wince. A few people glanced at each other warily.

"They're both right," she declared. "Clarke was put in solitary for a year to stop her leaking the truth about the Ark. The Council had to make that choice, or risk everyone on the Ark trying to revolt. It would've killed us all. They've sent us down here to make sure that at least some of us live. I've got no love for the Council, but I know a lot of you have family up there, you still had friends on the outside. Maybe there are more mothers hiding second-children under their floors." She glanced pointedly at Bellamy, who had the grace to look mildly chagrined, and Octavia, who bit her lip, possibly remembering her comment about wanting to let the entire Ark float for what was done to her. "There are new babies, innocent children. Are you going to condemn them, the way we were all condemned by the Council? You want to turn into the people you despise, just to spite them?

"They may have done it because they placed no value on our lives, but the Council has given us all a fresh start. It'd be easy to wait and rely on the Ark to send help, but I agree with Bellamy that we're far more capable than even we realise. We're gonna have to start from nothing, and it's going to be hard, but I know every single one of us has some potential to bring to the group. This is our home, now. Over billions of years, mankind evolved to be the greatest predator on Earth; this is where we're meant to be. We can take the skills we learned on the Ark and apply them here. We found food, but it won't be enough to sustain all of us, not even for days; we're going to have to learn how to farm the earth again, and how to hunt. We have to build a camp, and fortify it. And if not so the Council can gloat, we do need to find some way to communicate back to the Ark and let them know we're alive, if only for those little kids and babies who'll die up there if we don't do something. But, firstly, we have to look out for each other. Guys at the back, go round up the others, we need everyone here. Go on!"

As a few of the kids at the back of the group, farther up the hill, turned and ran to grab their friends, Dragan turned to Bellamy and Clarke. They were both scowling and defensive toward each other, but she didn't care. She did look Bellamy right in the eye, and say, "Dangerous thing, telling rapists and murderers they've done nothing wrong." Bellamy blinked, his jaw working. His eyes flitted to Octavia.

"There are rapists down here?" Dragan glanced around the crowd, noting faces.

"There are a couple left; most were floated in the second culling. Right after the brutal murderers."

"So how come you weren't floated?" Murphy sniffed.

"I smiled."

"They're coming back."

Dragan glanced up the hill, saw more faces, and did a quick head-count. With the loss of those two boys in the drop, and the addition of Bellamy the imposter guard, they were ninety-nine. They were still The 100, she liked the name. She scanned the faces again, a funny feeling in her stomach when she noticed the little ones, clustered together at the very edge of the clearing, as if afraid to draw attention to themselves – not surprising, considering the hulking figures of people like Dax, and Monster, and the aggressive-looking girls who could take any one of the boys in a fight and fix their hair afterwards without a care. "Where are Trina and Pascal?"

"Pound Town, probably," someone called, and a laugh echoed through the clearing. Dragan made a face.

"Alright. After what happened to Jasper, we know Mount Weather is off-limits, but there's no electric fence or air-locks saying the Grounders have claimed more territory around here, so from now on, we stick together. If you're leaving camp, there have to be at least three people in your group. Odds are one of you might get back. If you wanna go fuck – well, take the third person and have the time of your lives!"

A rich laugh echoed through the crowd, people already nudging and flirting.

"Alright," Dragan sighed, exhausted and her head starting to hurt from the heat. "I want you all to split up – one group of under-14s here. And then the rest of you, I want you organised by your strengths – Agro, Earth Skills, fighters, mechanics, engineers, etcetera, etcetera, etcetera… Well, go on!" Uncertainly, the others started shifting into groups – everyone except Bellamy, Octavia, Monty, Jasper, Wells, Clarke and Finn. With a funny feeling in her stomach, Dragan observed the others; the line had already been drawn. These kids weren't followers. Just by their actions since the drop, they were leaders.

"I'm gonna split you into groups, we'll have nine groups of ten, one of nine. Right! Kiddies! – Un momento, stand right here." She reached forward, organising the smallest of The 100 into a line by their shoulders. There were six kids – and they were just kids – small, skinny and wide-eyed. She knew their faces, remembered their names, and that seemed to surprise them, but it saddened her to think they had been forced into the drop-ship with over eighty criminals who were a lot older and much harder than they were. One girl had shining blonde hair in braids, and she'd be damned if the brunette kid with sharp elbows had even lost all his milk-teeth yet, but he had an earnest, open face and grinned at her. Remembering the details about these six kids, she scanned the crowd.

"I want Dax, Macon, Cixi, Alessandra, Frankie…Katherine, Delaney, Garrett and Michaels, you'll be with this little oik here," she said, indicating a redhead boy they all nicknamed Artful, a reference to his kleptomaniac tendencies and Oliver Twist, still required reading at school when they were fourteen. She had to think quickly about the dynamics and alliances she had helped construct in the Sky-Box, the personalities, the strengths of each person. She needed a thinker, a fighter, a creative type, a level-head and a spitfire in each group, someone with passable Earth Skills, someone who wasn't squeamish, someone who wasn't afraid of hard work, and a natural leader type in each group. They had a good variety, and sure, some of the girls were just airheaded sluts but, well…when tensions started to rise at least they could help relieve the more aggressive boys of some of their frustration. "Stand in your groups when I match you up. Right…Dugger, you and Fellows, AJ, Louisa, Priya, Sirius, Tatiana you'll be together –" Several people ooh'd, pushing closer; the history between Sirius and Tatiana was well-known, several times in the last few weeks alone Dragan had had to sort a situation out before it could escalate to guards' involvement, which would only have brought them all more trouble than they wanted.

"Oh hell no!" Tatiana cried, her extraordinarily-beautiful ebony face morphing into something worthy of a Greek tragedy. "For real, Dragan, I can't be in a group with him."

Dragan sighed, levelling Tatiana with a look. "My zero-bullshit-tolerance policy is still in place. I don't give a damn about your daddies and illegal brothers and those drugs your mom was cooking, far as I care you can hate each other till the sun freezes over. You wanna stick around this camp, you're going to work through it, work together, and quit annoying me with your bitching."

"I'd rather be dead than work with him."

"You know what, I feel the same way," Sirius growled. Dragan rolled her eyes, trying to count to five.

"Can you just fuck and get over the sexual tension already, I really think it might help with the rest of your whole situation," she said airily, scowling at them. A few people were trying to hide their laughter. "And as far as your choice to be dead rather than in this group, I can arrange that." She gave them both a challenging look, the slim and leonine Tatiana, a slash of ebony in the green, calm and serene, and simmering Sirius, ready to tear people's throats out with his bare teeth. The threat of her sorting them out was enough to make Sirius and Tatiana exchange the subtlest of looks, shoulders dipping a little in defeat but still hostile and defensive toward each other, and fell in line with the others. "Monroe and Autumn, you guys are with Nikki. Watch him, he has sharp fingernails."

She went through the rest, remembering to put Trina and Pascal in different groups, utilising the strengths of some of the kids to make sure no one single group had all the brains, all the common-sense, all the aggression or silly sluts who needed direction or they'd drift around uselessly.

They made up the last group – her, Clarke, Wells, Bellamy, Octavia, Monty, Jasper, Finn and the small kid called Samuel who'd grinned at her earlier. He was possibly the smallest of the group, except for Charlotte, but he had that slightly unhealthy look about him of someone who was starting to grow too quickly. He had dark curls and an impish dimple, and didn't seem fazed by being grouped in amongst the leaders of The 100.

"Okay, these are your groups. You'll sort out who's gonna report back to us; morning and night you'll do a head-count. Anything happens, you're responsible for each other first, if you can't settle things amongst yourselves, report it back to myself or Bellamy. I've grouped you up the way I have so there's at least one person who's had experience with mechanics, Agro, Earth Skills, Cadet training. Work together, share your skills. Since none of you did what I suggested yesterday and started working on latrines or a medical centre, you can start now. Scope out the area, no further than a half-mile around, see what's out there, figure out where's best to set up a latrine, a washroom. For ourselves and laundry. Those of you who grew up on Agro, we found vegetation when we were trekking. Lots of food – Monty guesses we're coming into autumn, so we need to figure out if and how we can harvest seeds, and utilise the drop-ship to power solar-fields to make sure we have at least some an alternative source of food during the winter if we can't find natural winter crops.

"Go out in your groups, get some ideas, and come back to us, we'll put the ideas together, dish out work details between who wants to work on different things," Dragan continued. "We'll start tomorrow. Tonight we'll have to ration dinner, this is all we could carry. And one more thing, we will need sentries to stand watch through the night. Keep a fire going low, day and night, and we'll rota night-guard duty, to every three hours. And we need trained guards – Wells, Bellamy, Miller, Dax and…Lucy, I want you all to work together, work on a training programme. Also – princess."

"Yeah?" Clarke frowned, working her jaw, looking terse, as Dragan pointed at her without looking around, a sudden idea coming to her. Dragan scanned the faces in front of her, the groups, the little ones.

"You're the only doc we've got down here, you're going to take an apprentice," she said. "Anastasia!"

"Yeah," a sunburned brunette with reddish lights to her hair stepped forward. How the demure Anastasia had wound up in the Sky-Box was her business, but down here Dragan anticipated she'd flourish.

"You wanted to be a doctor – you're going to learn from Clarke." She glanced at Clarke. "Her mother is the finest doctor on the Ark. Any procedure you have to do, any treatment no matter how standard, you're going to teach Anastasia – Monty, you're going to share your knowledge of natural herbs and remedies with Anastasia, too. And…Samuel, you're going to consult with Monty too – I know you grew up on Agro, I want you to learn what herbs and roots are essential for medicine." Small Samuel nodded eagerly. Clarke didn't look nearly as full of anticipation as Anastasia about her apprenticeship, but it was necessary; if something happened to Clarke, they were all screwed. They could make do and mend, but they really were privileged to have Clarke's medical expertise, limited as it was by her youth.

"Alright, you've got your groups, you know what you need to do. We start in the morning," Bellamy shouted to the crowd. "Pick your group-leaders as Dragan said, report back to us. In the morning, we'll sort out which groups scope out the land, who goes gathering food, who's stripping the drop-ship, figuring out the latrine, washhouse, medical-centre, solar-crops, who works on tents with O." Octavia gave her brother a sharp frown. "We turn in early, start at first light, we can get a lot done tomorrow that'll help in the next few weeks if we start early and work hard. First, though, dinner. What'd you guys find?"

"We'll have to ration it," Dragan groaned, as she found a fallen tree and sat down on the log, her legs still shaking. Now that she wasn't moving, she was even more exhausted than she had realised.

She was asleep before the corn had finished cooking in the ashes of the fire – it was Bellamy who woke her, sitting down beside her on the log she'd fallen asleep sitting on. He handed her a charred ear of corn and slipped a handful of plums and figs into her jacket pocket.

"Food get shared out okay?" she asked groggily.

"Couple scuffles, nothing major; people were pretty unsure about the artichokes and zucchinis, the carrots," Bellamy shrugged.

"I figure if we can track down some rabbit or deer we might make a pretty good stew," she said softly. "May have to make each group responsible for feeding themselves, this is a lot of mouths to feed. That'd create its own problems, though."

"Share based on need," Bellamy said quietly. It was something they had all grown up learning. The Ark's mantra. That, and, Every crime is capital. "How'd you come up with all those plans?"

"It was a long hike," Dragan said, peeling the charred leaves away from the glowing yellow corn. It was delicious, hot and sweet, she chewed it down to the core, ignoring her burning fingertips. "Anyway, didn't seem like either of you two had even thought about it. You were off screwing every girl who threw herself at you; the princess over there refused to believe in anything but Mount Weather's Holy Grail of survival supplies."

"So you thought, put these kids to work, huh?"

"We all need something to focus on or we'll just spend all our time breaking up fights – or digging graves," she said, eyeing Bellamy.

"O says you swung across the river to grab Jasper, when they all turned and ran."

"And?" Bellamy just shrugged. He nibbled the last of the corn from his own ear and sighed softly. He chuckled suddenly.

"You know, the person who got me on the drop-ship…he knew I'd want in the moment I learned O was being sent to the ground; he remembered me when I was a Cadet, knew I'd be an asset to you guys down here… I'm guessing he had absolutely no idea what you are capable of."

"Nobody outside the Sky-Box knows me," Dragan said quietly, gazing across the clearing. People had taken her guidance to heart, they were sitting in the groups she had created, sharing the food she and the others had carried back. Half these kids were orphans, yes, but they had friends, they had connections still on the Ark, school-friends and ex-boyfriends, that kind of thing. The other half were still privileged enough to have family, and she knew that, because every visiting day they came pouring into the Sky-Box. The noise-level skyrocketed, and she felt a pang of loneliness that had never, not in ten years, gone away. She had let go of her jealousy years ago, realising families brought on their own set of problems, and she had never been held to anyone's expectations but her own.

No-one had ever visited her.

"Nobody still living has any idea what I'm capable of."

A.N.: What do you think? That settles the power-struggle but also established Bellamy as a leader – I suddenly realised how silly it was only Clarke knows about medicine and stuff; she's not nearly an expert but keeping her knowledge to herself was very risky, considering the dangerous situations she always placed herself in. My character Samuel will become more important as the story goes on.