A/N: WOW I have been absent a long time. I'm so sorry guys. :( I've been going through a lot of really difficult personal stuff, which has contributed to extreme writer's block. But I'm determined to finish this story, and really want to as well, so I'm hoping posting a new chapter will keep my momentum going. I just hope I have some readers left, and sorry to have abandoned you for so long!
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The janitor's uniform was baggy, made of heavy cloth, and itchy around the neck. The greyish-blue reminded him of what he'd read in literature- generic workers for a generic purpose, each one interchangeable with the next. He despised it.
Three days after his sister had been ripped from his arms and his mother had been floated out an airlock, Bellamy's official bereavement leave was up. He reported to his first day in sanitation because his rations had been slashed, and if he missed work they'd be reduced even more.
He scrubbed floors covered in piss and oil and blood and every other kind of muck imaginable. He unclogged toilets, wiped down walls, and sanitised the most disgusting places on the Ark.
Everyone seemed to know who he was.
"Holy shit, it's the guy with the sister!"
"What, your mother couldn't keep her legs closed? Selfish bitch."
"How can you even show your face?"
These were the kinds of comments that followed him on his rounds in sanitation.
"Siblings are an abomination- illegal. How can you even live with yourself? How could the council let you walk?"
"Stealing rations from other people's mouths for sixteen years- they should have floated your whole family!"
But there were a few kind words too. "I'm sorry about your mother," said softly by a woman in the science lab, carried him for half of that first day. A man told him, "I can't imagine the kind of life you've had to live… I hope they let your sister come home soon," and that carried him for the rest of it.
He pushed his cart from one end of the Ark to the other, found himself in the most disgusting corners of Farm station, full of fertiliser and reeking stenches of imitation soil, and then to the richest sections of Alpha, where tiny families of three lived in big quarters, multiple rooms with windows and skylights, bathtubs and televisions. He couldn't stand either end, or the way the people who didn't know who he was looked right through him- just another lowly janitor.
By the time he got home on that first day, he couldn't imagine ever going back there. He pulled in huge breaths, long and shaking and horrible, each one like a shard in his chest. Even his quarters weren't a haven- from the cruel words and prying eyes, yes, but not from the awful memories, which were even worse. His quarters were like a tomb to all that he'd lost- every missing item in his home a keen reminder of the two women who had made his life complete.
But he'd had to go back to work the next day, and then back again the day after that. Every day sucked the life out of him, but he had no choice.
Now, alone in his quarters after another torturous eight hours, he felt isolation like a gaping mouth threatening to swallow him whole. It was good the guard had taken his gun, because he was scared of what he might have done with it had they not.
Even still, no matter how awful his life was, no matter how hollow and lonely and devastated he felt, he knew he had to keep going. Octavia still needed him. Visitor's Day was only six short days away. His mother had called it a touchstone, something for both of them to hold onto, and he intended to make it just that. He would walk into the SkyBox and show his sister that she still had reason to hope- that they both did.
He knew that whatever he was going through now, what she must have been enduring in lockup had to be so much worse. He just wished he could take that pain away from her. He would endure anything, if only she would be okay, and it killed him not knowing how she was doing, where she was, whether she needed him. He knew she did.
He felt his drastically changed world closing around him like a fist, small and narrow and miserable. When he wasn't at work, he laid in his bunk with the room dark, the only source of light the small red numbers of the digital clock. He wouldn't sleep, but instead just stare up at the ceiling, his ears straining to hear the breathing of his mother and sister in the night, even though he knew that was impossible.
Bellamy had never slept alone in this room, not one day in his life, and now here he was, expected to do it every night for more than two years? How could he? How could Octavia do the same, sleeping without her family's presence? It was too horrible even to imagine, yet they were both living it.
Laying there, listening for sounds he would never hear again, he couldn't help but think about how recently he'd roll over sometimes in the morning and look down at his mother's bunk to watch Octavia, her face soft with slumber, her dark hair splayed over the pillow. In those moments he'd felt a pang of his own mortality, as though watching her grow up before his eyes had aged him in a way that nothing else could. With each year that passed she would never be that small again, each year precious in its impermanence.
How would she change over these two years he was going to miss? How would they both change? When she got out, she'd be eighteen. He'd be nearly twenty-five. It seemed unfathomable, that he would miss her transition into adulthood, the last two years that she would still be, technically, a child. His child.
Bellamy squeezed his eyes shut and pulled in a breath, forcing air into his lungs and then forcing it back out again as if he could breathe away his pain. He shoved away those dark thoughts and tried to focus on anything good that came to mind, but there was nothing. So he made his mind a blank instead, not thinking of anything at all.
It was the sound of a knock at the door that finally pulled him from his stupor, and he turned his head, looking over at it. Leave it to Vaughn to not know when to stop, to push and push despite the fact that all he was going to get was another punch in the face.
Bellamy rolled off the bed, actually looking forward to hitting him again, not because it was Vaughn, but just because it was something real- a true and visceral feeling he could process in a tangible way.
After the second knock, Bellamy stalked to the door and yanked it open. But Vaughn wasn't standing there.
Roman was.
For a moment Bellamy just stared at the man, trying to wrack his brain to remember the last time he'd seen him, but he couldn't. His presence in their lives, once such a violent, terrifying threat, had long ago faded to nothing.
Bellamy was so surprised by Roman's appearance that the older man was already inside before he had a chance to say, "What the hell are you doing here?"
"I want to talk," Roman said, looking around the room as though he, too, was trying to remember the last time he'd seen it.
Stalking a short distance away, Bellamy stood on the balls of his feet, clenching a fist at his side. "I'm not good company right now. And I don't want to talk to you at the best of times. So get out." His jaw felt like stone.
"Is she okay?" Roman asked him, ignoring everything he'd said.
Bellamy just stared at him. "Is she okay?" he repeated, appalled. "You think you have any right to ask me that? You think you have any right to anything?"
"She's my daughter," Roman countered, his back stiffening in time with Bellamy's. "Aurora might not have let her be, but you and I both know it's true."
Of course it was true. Right now, he was staring Bellamy down with Octavia's eyes in his head, with the angular twist of her jaw, and it was painful to look at. It was her face and not her face, a man he despised and not the sister he adored. He wanted to murder him with his bare hands for trying to claim her now.
"So she's your daughter," he said, his voice edged with fury. "So what? What could that possibly mean now? My mother is dead, my sister is locked up, and you're here for what- to get on the list for Visitor's Day? Is that it? To go and see her and finally tell her who you are?"
Roman was silent, which is how Bellamy knew he wasn't far off. He let out a laugh, but there was no humour in it. Taking a step closer to Roman he bit out, "That's it, isn't it? You figure now that my mother is dead and Octavia's locked up, you can get at her?"
"Calm down," Roman said, an edge rising in his voice. "I have a right to see Octavia. She's mine."
"Don't say her name," Bellamy snapped, his whole body tensing as Roman pronounced it. "Don't even say it. You have no right. She is not yours, she's mine, and if you so much as go near her, so help me God-"
Roman let out a snort, cutting him off. "Boy, your mother screwed you up so bad you don't even recognise it yourself," he said, shaking his head. "Aurora had some problems. She may not have wanted me around, but do you think that was because of me, or because of her?"
"I think it was because you used to beat her senseless," Bellamy said, stepping closer, not even taking satisfaction when Roman took a step back. "Oh yeah," he said, his voice cooler by the second. "I remember that."
"You don't know what you remember," Roman said, but Bellamy heard a hint of uncertainty in his voice and he seized his opportunity. He jabbed out with a fist, catching Roman in the side in one sharp movement, feeling a rib crack. Roman grabbed his side, letting out a huff of breath, his eyes going wide. He stared at Bellamy in disbelief. "You could be floated!"
"And so could you, for fathering a second child," Bellamy retorted, seeing Roman flinch a little. "I remember that too."
"Look-"
Bellamy grabbed Roman around the neck and shoved him against the wall, squeezing so hard that he couldn't say anything else. He stopped short of closing his airway, but he could see he'd scared the man. "I'm not good company right now," he said again, his voice like ice, his eyes on fire as he looked into Roman's. "Now get out, or you'll wish you had."
"Bellamy?" a tentative voice asked from the doorway, surprising him from his anger momentarily. He must have forgotten to close the door. Turning his head, he saw Gina standing there, glancing between the two of them, her brown eyes full of uncertainty. "Um… I should go," she said hastily, turning.
"No," Bellamy answered, almost reflexively, making her pause. "Stay." He looked back to Roman, glared at him, then let go of his neck with a forceful shove. Under his breath he said, "Get the hell out of here and never come back, or your kid will know what it feels like to watch a parent get floated."
After Roman turned, red-faced, and stormed from the room, Gina stepped inside and shut the door. "Are you okay?" she asked tentatively, not approaching him.
"I'm fine," he said, and it struck him that he had no idea why he'd said it. After all, they both knew it wasn't true.
When she just stood there for a moment, shifting her weight slowly from one foot to the other, he asked her, "Did Vaughn send you?"
Gina let out a breath and shook her head. "No. He did tell me what happened, though. He thought I should give you a bit of space, but I wanted to see how you're doing."
Bellamy shook his head as he walked over to his mother's bunk, the only one that still had a mattress, and sat down. After a moment Gina moved over and joined him, and he felt a swell of relief, not having realised how much it was bothering him to think she might be scared of him.
The ceiling of the bunk was low, so they both had to lean forward to keep clear of it. Bellamy stared at his hands, flexing the fingers of his right a bit, feeling the shape of Roman's rib against his knuckles.
"Who was that man?" she asked quietly.
He shook his head, knowing it wasn't his place to say- not really. If Octavia ever wanted to claim Roman, that was her choice, though he hoped she wouldn't. So he just said, "No one. Someone who knew my mother… giving his condolences."
A long silence passed between them that was neither fully comfortable nor uncomfortable, and then, softly she said, "I'm really sorry."
Bellamy turned his head, searching her eyes, and she looked truly sorry- compassionate, sympathetic. Absolutely sincere.
Again she said, "I'm really sorry, Bellamy. I can't imagine what you're going through, or what you've been going through… the secrets you've had to keep… the things you've had to do. And losing them both in one day- that must have been… God, just heartbreaking." She reached for his hand, curling her fingers around his and squeezing gently as she gave him a soft smile. He watched tears gather in her eyes as she said, "I'm here for you. And if part of being here for you is not being here- if you need space- then that's fine too. But you're not alone, Bellamy."
He let out a long breath, closing his eyes for a moment, letting her compassion roll over him like a gift. Then he opened his eyes again and gazed at her for a long moment before he reached out a hand, sliding it into her hair. He watched her brow furrow in confusion but only for a split second before he closed his eyes and pulled her into his lips, kissing her hungrily.
Bellamy felt her body resist for a moment, hesitate, felt tension spreading through her limbs, could almost hear her inner struggle of trying to decide what to do, how to respond. But he couldn't focus on that. He didn't want to focus on anything, just her lips and her body pressed against his, and the sense of distraction that they both allowed.
When he felt her body soften and her lips open, he found her tongue with his and though he tried to be tender he knew he was drinking her in with a thirst that was at once overwhelming and destructive.
He grabbed her hips and pulled her into his lap, letting her knees settle on either side of him, sliding his hands under her shirt to stroke her back, his lips never leaving hers. He found her bra and tugged at the hooks.
Gina's hands reached back to seize his and she wrapped her fingers around his wrists, pulling her lips away from his at the same time that she pulled his hands from under her clothes. She leaned her forehead against his for a moment, both of them breathing hard, and he opened his eyes, watching a war rage across her face.
Finally she looked at him, and then she said, "Bellamy…"
He knew there had to be more to what she wanted to say, but she only said his name and then fell silent, just watching him.
But the moment was over anyway. All the dark thoughts came rushing back, and somehow they felt more severe because of their brief absence. Bellamy pushed her sideways, not roughly, off his lap and stood up, pacing to the other side of the room, where he rested his forearms against the wall and pressed his face into them, squeezing his eyes shut as hard as he could, as though he could shut out the world, this pain.
Gina's voice from behind him was hesitant as she said, "I'm sorry."
He cringed then, forcing himself away from the wall, turning to face her, shaking his head. "Don't be," he said softly, meaning it. "You don't want to be used- I get that. Sorry I tried."
She gave him the smallest smile, and then she stepped closer to him, sliding her hands over his shoulders, up his neck, and into his hair. She just gazed at him for a long moment, holding his eyes, and then she tipped her chin up and caught his lips, kissing him tenderly, a kiss that lasted only a moment. "One day, maybe," she said as she released him, stepping backward. "But not today. Neither of us need that right now."
He just watched her for a moment, surprised by her words, momentarily distracted again. Quietly he said, "I didn't mean…" But he trailed off, not even sure what he was going to say. He didn't mean to hurt her? Didn't mean to show her his vulnerability? Didn't mean to let her surprise him?
Gina smiled that pretty smile of hers and shook her head. "We're okay," she assured him. "And I meant what I said before- you're not alone."
Bellamy gazed at her, not quite sure what to make of her, but then he just nodded. He watched her leave, and then after a while he went back to his mother's bunk and sat down again. That night there were the same nightmares he always had- Octavia trapped, needing him, being unable to reach her- but there was also one tiny reprieve- a dream of Gina's full lips on his, her eyes half-lidded, looking up at him, and her waves of dark hair sliding through his fingers.
