I'M FALLING ON MY KNEES RIGHT NOW
I'M COVERED IN THE MESS I MADE
THESE COLOURS USED TO WASH RIGHT OUT
BUT NOW THEY ARE A PART OF ME
Aerrow and Octavia remained at Oceana's trading post for several days while her stab wound healed.
After her initial frosty caution towards them had faded, Oceana had turned out to be quite a welcoming host, providing them with food, new clothing for Octavia and any other supplies they needed, along with a soft animal fur rug for Aerrow to lie on at night next to the bed that Octavia remained in, while Oceana herself slept in the trade section of the building.
In order to repay the grounder woman for her hospitality, Aerrow went out for several hours each day to gather supplies and hunt for food, whilst also trying to find out any information he could as to the identity of 'Wanheda'.
On the fifth day since his reappearance, having finished asking around at some of the other nearby posts, he stopped next to the river – the same place he had saved Octavia – to gather his thoughts.
Up until very recently, he had never given any consideration to the possibility that he was the fabled Commander of Death, but after his talk with Octavia, the thought had begun to increasingly work its way to the front of his head.
It would make sense. The grounders knew that he had been in Mount Weather when it had finally fallen, just as they knew of his legendary fighting skills - not to mention the numbers of their people he had killed in the past. It was not the first time that they had sought his head either, but he didn't like to think back to that time, it reminded him too much of Clarke, who he could only try to forget. It was the only way to ease the demons floating at the forefront of his conscience. This time though he was unable to stop their unwanted intrusion.
How could he? How could he have done that to her?
His throat dried instantly, as had become commonplace whenever his thoughts strayed to the blonde, but he resisted the temptation to venture down to the river.
To do so would mean seeing his reflection in the water, and that was something he simply could not do.
It was just one of the many consequences of his gene splicing.
Sure, the cuts on his hand had virtually healed already and the slab of deer flesh on his back felt featherlight, but his physical enhancements came at an awful price.
His mental state.
What had happened to him in the mountain haunted him. Memories of his DNA fusion and the events following – capturing his friends, killing his brothers – plagued him terribly. His nights were sleepless, his days blurred and hazy, the emotional trauma of his ordeal staying with him long after the destruction of the organization that had subjected him to it.
He didn't recognise himself, neither his body nor his mind.
Oblivion had fused his DNA with Sienna's in full, right down to the chemical structure of his brain itself.
He no longer viewed the world the same way, his very thoughts, feelings and emotions altered irreversibly.
His emotions were dulled, no longer as raw and extreme as they used to be, but in turn they were harder to control, snowball rapidly beyond his control. It was harder to feel the anger that had so dominated his life, while simultaneously feelings like fear and reluctance were much more prominent.
He no longer recognized himself, a fact that was helped in no way by his altered appearance.
The removal of his scars and the changing of his features was the worst of all. Beyond his tattoos – and maybe Cleo – he had no anchors to who he'd used to be, and instead was forced to live with a permanent, unrelenting reminder of what he'd done and who he'd lost.
The first time he'd seen his reflection, he'd stared at it in disbelief.
That had been when Oblivion has first spliced his genes and muted his memory.
The second time he could do nothing but weep.
That had been not long after he and Clarke had left, and they'd rested by the still waters of a lake.
After that he started avoiding bodies of water all together.
The third time had been in the small hovel they'd set up in near the coast, and Clarke had sketched him. On showing her work to him, he remembered nothing other than ripping it from her hands and burning it immediately.
It wasn't long after that he'd-
Feeling the all too familiar guilt-ridden tears welling up, he purged himself of his feelings, throwing the carcass of his shoulders and slamming it into the ground.
Stomping away, he forced himself to calm his breathing and centred his thoughts on the only thing that seemed to calm him recently:
Octavia.
He had continued to care for her while she recovered from her injury. It had taken her several days to get back on her feet, and even though it had been five days since she was stabbed, it was still too painful for her to walk any great distance, and as such she hadn't left Oceana's trading post, despite how much he knew she wanted to.
Instead she had been helping out by sorting through and organising the various piles of junk that lay scattered around the building. While she would never admit it, he knew she rather enjoyed the time working with her hands, building her coordination.
The image of her angrily struggling to pry open an old children's toy, before admitting defeat and slicing the toy in half with her sword as payback brought an amused smile to his face, chasing away his dark thoughts.
He took a moment to sit back, look out at the beautiful landscape around him, and wonder why. The more he thought about it, the more he was forced to admit to himself that he was... not happy... content with the experience as well. It felt so good to be able to escape the world he had been struggling through, to be able to forget about the demons that had continually haunted him day and night.
Oceana had continued to act as though she was not harboring himself and a member of Skaikru in her home, a fact that Aerrow was immensely appreciative of. No one knew he existed in this world. There was no one demanding anything of him, no one around to judge him. No one to hurt him. It was just him, Octavia and Oceana.
"Everything happens for a reason." he thought out loud, echoing one of the mantras of the Qinta in their own language, slightly modified from the original trigedasleng to be smoother, and more difficult to translate. He found it so much easier to use than english, or ordinary trigedasleng. It was also one of the ways that he continued to honour the teachings of his former brethren.
A pang of hurt shot through his chest as he remembered that he was alone, without the brotherhood that in his time with them had become his home, his family, his salvation. Right up until Hans Van Dyke turned him into a mindless weapon and made him wipe out each and every member of the legendary Panther Cult.
Hurriedly deciding it was not fit to dwell in the past, he gathered the deer carcass – and his thoughts – and headed back to what was, for the time being at least, home.
…
"How much longer are we going to stay here?" Octavia asked suddenly while Aerrow was in the middle of changing her dressings, revealing that her wound was mostly healed, the beginnings of an eerily familiar pink scar starting to show.
Aerrow paused what he was doing, taking some time to consider his response.
"We?" He eventually spoke, flicking his eyes to her questioningly.
Octavia faltered slightly at his response. "Well yeah, I mean, we can't stay here forever right?" she replied, awkwardly, caught out by his question.
Aerrow deliberately remained silent as he wrapped her abdomen in some fresh bandages that had been traded to Oceana the day prior, before slicing the end off with one of her swords.
Octavia watched on as he held the sword reverently in his grip long after he was finished using it. He was just... staring at it, feeling the familiar weight in his hand. The action did not surprise her. After all, the swords were originally his.
They were made from a non-metal alloy called Coandite – an exceptionally rare combination of carbon fibre and titanium, formed by exposing the elements to intense radiation, mutating the atomic structure and literally fusing them together to create an entirely new alloy much lighter yet far stronger than any metal known to man.
He had originally acquired the material on the Ark – another act which he now knew was influenced by Oblivion – and had shaped it along with his mother and his then-girlfriend Arianna into a knife and a high-tech expandable bo-staff, which he had used to train with in his time in solitary confinement - again made possible by Oblivion. He had continued to use them when he landed on the ground, though ultimately he had lost the knife in the battle with the grounders and had given his staff to Sienna after being taught how to shoot a bow and arrow by the grounders. In the wake of her death, he vowed to honour her by never using the weapon again, and instead melted it down and cast the twin, eighty centimetre thin-bladed swords that he now held. After she had defeated him in Mount Weather, he had given the swords to Octavia. His parting gift to her, and a further attempt at leaving his cursed life behind.
"You can have them back, if you want." Octavia's soft voice broke his thoughts, "They are yours after all."
Aerrow tightened his grip on the hilt of the sword and clenched his jaw.
"No." He said quietly, putting both swords on the table by her bed, "I gave them to you for a reason."
He turned away and picked Cleo – who had refused to leave Octavia's side the entire time – up by the base of her thick tail and placed the monitor lizard on his lap, absently stroking her velvety scales.
Octavia couldn't help but smile at the sight. She remembered when she'd first seen the beautiful reptile, when Aerrow asked her to name it. It was one of the few times she had seen him happy.
Her thoughts of the past drew her back to the question that had been burning inside her head ever since she had first seen him again.
"What happened to Clarke? Why isn't she with you?" She asked, with not a small amount of caution.
Aerrow immediately stopped stroking Cleo's back and sat bolt upright, completely still. She saw him close his eyes and exhale shakily.
"I don't want to talk about it." He said quietly.
"But-"
"Please, Octavia." he hissed through clenched teeth, painful memories bleeding into his voice.
She flinched and recoiled backwards at his response.
"Don't ask that." He finished more softly before turning away again. Octavia knew better than to pursue her curiosity.
"What were you doing on your own so far from camp?" He asked suddenly. "Where was Lincoln?"
Now it was Octavia's turn to stiffen.
"I don't want to talk about it." She echoed, throwing his words right back at him. She looked down at her lap and narrowed her eyes, as memories she had forgotten came forward.
A hand on her thigh snapped her out of her anger, and she looked back up to find him staring softly at her.
"Is it the kill order?" He asked quietly. He knew that Lincoln had a death warrant over his head ever since betraying his people for her at the mountain.
Octavia shook her head. "The opposite." She said resentfully.
Aerrow remained silent, giving her the opportunity to speak as she wished.
"I just want to leave, Aerrow." She told him, voice breaking slightly. "I don't belong there, neither does Lincoln. But I can't, because he won't-" she cut herself off.
She took a deep breath to try and calm her emotions. She still loved Lincoln, and wanted more than anything to go back to him, but the sight of him wearing that guard uniform, betraying everything she thought he – they – believed in only engulfed her in disgust.
"I don't even know if I want to go back to him." She finished as she stared at her confidant through watery eyes. It was all too hard.
Aerrow fixed her with a calming stare, the bright blue of his eyes taking away her anger. "Yes you do." He said simply.
"What makes you say that?" Octavia sniffed.
Aerrow cupped her cheek with his palm and gave her a slight, remorseful smile. "Because you love him."
...
Later that night, once he had made sure that Octavia was asleep safely, Aerrow quietly exited the bedroom and shut the door, to be greeted by Oceana on the other side, as had become commonplace in their shared time together.
In the five days he had spent around her, he had come to know her quite well. The trading post had been her families, built years ago by her father. An only child, she had taken over running it upon her parents' untimely passing – early deaths a common occurrence in the harsh environment of the Ice Nation.
Despite her initial wariness (not to mention the cross-bow), she was actually quite a caring person under her frosty demeanour – a mask well crafted in the dangerous business she operated in.
Several nights he'd found himself staying awake with her for many hours after the setting of the sun, listening to her share snapshots of her life. He never said very much himself, he was content with hearing from herself about her experiences on the ground, which he still knew comparatively little about.
He was indescribably grateful that she had indeed made sure any reflecting surfaces in her building were covered up, or hidden away. It was an act of kindness he had truthfully not expected, and even though she could see the questions in her eyes every time he asked her to fetch water from the well, or for more charcoal to rub into his hair, she never voiced them.
Over time, he found himself beginning to trust her as more than just a stranger who was letting him stay with her out of sympathy, and every time he had left, he had done so safe in the knowledge that she would take care of Octavia in his absence.
"You're a good man, to care for your friend in such a way." Oceana told him as he exited Octavia's room.
Aerrow scoffed slightly. "Me. A good man? Now that's something I never thought I'd hear."
He looked down at the ground sadly. Talking to Octavia about Lincoln had unintentionally brought back the memories of who he was and what he had done. They never failed to remind him that, while he was many things, a good man wasn't one of them.
Oceana ignored his comment. "You have feelings for her?" She spoke quietly.
Aerrow visibly stiffened, and turned so his side was facing her.
"It doesn't matter how I feel." He replied, his voice tinged with pain and sorrow, but most of all: resignation. "I can never be with her."
He sniffed. "I can never be with anyone. They just end up getting hurt. Or worse."
He placed his hands on the window sill and leant forward, staring down at the ground as a tear spilled from his eyes and ran down his cheek. He heard Oceana step up beside him and put her hand gently on his shoulder.
"I have some more charcoal for you, if you wish." She offered.
Aerrow looked down at the crumbled black substance in her outstretched hand and nodded. "Please."
He took a seat on one of the stools and made to reach for the charcoal, only for the woman to keep her hold on it as she moved behind him
A moment later, he felt her calloused hands running through his hair, pressing the ebony material into the strands, disguising the blonde colour.
He sat, frozen, as her nimble fingers worked through his scalp.
"I still don't understand why you insist on doing this." She said softly.
He kept his eyes looking ahead, though the pupils drifted out of focus. "I wouldn't expect you to."
He paused. "You don't have to do this, you know."
"I know." She snuffed a soft laugh. "But I've watched you make a mess of it the last three nights. Besides, it is a nice change seeing you like this."
Aerrow twisted in his chair to look at her. "Like what?"
She sent a faint smile towards him. "I've watched you, these past days. You are not a man at peace with the world, even less so yourself. The only times you seem to relax… are these."
Aerrow turned away once more. "If you'd gone through what I have, you'd understand." He said bitterly.
"I do not wish to understand." Oceana replied, reaching around to grip his chin.
Turning his face towards her, she looked deeply in to his eyes.
"I wish to help you." She told him honestly. "I have seen your kindness, and your pain. It saddens me, to see someone so young in life so affected by its tribulations."
Aerrow was quick to raise his hand and pry Oceana's fingers away from his face. "What are you trying to say?" he asked searchingly.
She held his gaze and leaned a little closer. "I'm saying… that if it helps ease this… suffering… you feel… You don't have to leave this place."
Aerrow looked up at her quickly, confused and surprised. He understood what Oceana was talking about. It wasn't a statement. It was an offer.
He was about to open his mouth to reply when the door to the trading post suddenly burst open and two heavily armed men bearing the facial scars of the Ice Nation walked in.
Aerrow eyed them warily as they walked nonchalantly around the room.
"We do not trade after dark. Please leave." Oceana informed them sternly as she walked over to them.
"We're not here to trade." One of them said sternly.
Aerrow's eyes widened and he turned his back to them. He'd picked up on their tone of voice straight away. They were hunting something. More likely someone. His discussions with Octavia about the identity of the mysterious Wanheda were at the forefront of his mind. He did not want these men to see his face.
He knew that if it came down to it, he could most likely take them both in a fight, however he did not wish to endanger Oceana and especially Octavia, so decided it was best to remain anonymous.
"Well you can just leave then." He heard Oceana say. He had to admire her bravery. She backed down to no one.
"Not until we get what we want." The other man said icily. Aerrow clenched his fist, regretting that he had no weapon.
"And what would that be?"
"Information." He paused and pulled a section of parchment from the pouch at his side. He held it up so Oceana could see. On it was a drawing.
"Have you seen this person?" He asked slowly.
Aerrow had no idea who the drawing was of, he was trying to get a better look but had to be careful not to reveal himself, lest it be him.
"No." Oceana replied simply. "Never."
Aerrow didn't need to see her to know she was not telling the truth. He could tell from the flutter in her voice, and the hesitation in her answer. Unfortunately, the hunter picked up on it too.
He heard the man sigh, and then out of sight, he pulled a small axe from his side and held its sharpened edge against Oceana's chest.
"I'm going to ask you one more time." His voice was ice cold, "And this time, you're going to tell me the truth."
"HEY!" A strong voice called from the end of the room. Both men turned as one as the owner of the voice turned around and glared at them through rage filled eyes.
"Leave her alone." Aerrow spat slowly.
For a moment, all was still. Then what happened next did so in the blink of an eye.
Sensing her attacker's momentary distraction, Aerrow saw Oceana go for her crossbow, bringing it up and taking aim quickly. The bounty hunter was faster though and swung his axe down at her.
Realising what was about to happen, Aerrow charged across the room, covering the ground in no time at all. He heard someone scream as he ploughed into the axe-wielding man and slammed him against the wall. He kicked his knee backwards, shattering it. He caught the man as he fell and coldly snapped, tossing the corpse aside, just as the second man tackled him.
The two rolled around on the ground, sending pieces of scrap metal flying everywhere as they wrestled brutally. The far more heavily built hunter eventually got the upper hand. He pinned the younger man to the floor and drew his dagger.
He plunged it towards Aerrow's face only for the teenager to quickly roll to the side, causing the bounty hunter to instead stab the weapon into the wooden floor.
Aerrow never stopped moving as he rolled out from underneath the man. He spied Oceana's crossbow discarded on the floor next to him. Without pausing to think how it might have gotten there, he quickly snatched it up, took aim, and sent an arrow directly between the man's eyes.
His brain instantly shut down, the unfortunate hunter went completely rigid, before falling face first onto the floor, forcing the arrow the rest of the way through his skull, its sharpened tip protruding gruesomely from the back of his head.
Aerrow collapsed backwards onto the floor, breathing heavily, eyes shut in relief.
"Oceana are you okay?" He asked urgently, raising himself up onto his elbow and looking over in her direction.
And then he froze.
…
Octavia awoke to the sounds of Cleo hissing and something crashing loudly in the building.
Her warrior's senses instantly alerted to danger, her hands went for the twin swords at her bedside and she got to her feet just as everything went silent.
Cautiously, she opened the door, swords in hand, braced for what she might find on the other side.
She never expected to see Aerrow silently kneeling on the floor in the centre of the room, cradling Oceana's unmoving body in his arms. She never expected to see the axe sticking out of her chest.
On hearing the door open, Aerrow looked up at her, eyes completely dry and shedding no tears, but what she saw instead shocked her. She found herself looking into the eyes of someone who was totally, utterly broken.
She closed the door and walked slowly over to him, where she placed her swords on the ground and knelt down next to him. Since she had started her training, her emotions had been dulled, but she too was overcome with sadness as she stared at Oceana's dead body, the young girl so full of kindness. Another innocent victim of a world so guilty.
Neither said anything for a long time, before eventually Aerrow spoke up. "We were wrong." He said, his voice barely audible.
"About what?"
Aerrow sniffed. "The grounders aren't looking for either of us."
"Then who are they-" Octavia cut herself off when she saw the piece of paper Aerrow held in front of her.
On it was a picture of Clarke.
…
Octavia solemnly re-entered the now ownerless building, having lit the funeral pyre to send Oceana back into the Earth. Aerrow hadn't moved from the floor, even after she'd taken the body from his arms. Wanting to spare him the pain of saying goodbye to yet another friend, she had silently volunteered.
She thought long and hard about what she was going to say to him. She knew how much he could care about people, and how much losing each one of them pained him. She had seen the happiness, the joy, the pure love on his face when he was with Sienna, and for a time was both jealous and saddened by the thought that she would never get to experience a love like that.
But then she'd found Lincoln, and suddenly she had what she'd always wanted. She had no idea what she would do if he was ever taken from her. She just knew it would be akin to the massacres Aerrow committed in the wake of Sienna's death in the battle with the grounders at the drop ship.
That thought finally made her realise just how much she missed him, and that Aerrow had been right all along. Skaikru or Trikru, she loved him, and she needed to go back to him. However, she also desperately wanted Aerrow to come back with her, she just needed to convince him.
But then she walked back into the bedroom and all her words died in her throat.
Aerrow was on his knees in the middle of the bed, his back bare and perfectly vertical. Trails of blood ran down it, mixing with the thin veil of sweat on his lightly tanned skin. The rivers of red stemmed from several long slashes inflicted on his upper back.
At first she thought they were just a consequence of his fateful tussle with the two bounty hunters, but then she gasped in shock as she saw him raise one of her swords and run it right down the centre of his back, opening up another wound. He made not a sound as the razor edge sliced his skin open, but she saw the muscles in his back twitch and shiver involuntarily as the self imposed agony shot through them.
Her mind screamed at her to say something, do something, anything! But somehow she couldn't. Her feet were rooted to the ground, and her mouth was sealed shut as she watched the gruesome scene unfold in front of her. She realised with horror that the new wounds matched perfectly with the scars that used to adorn his back.
He was giving himself his scars back!
"So now you know." His broken voice whispered, shattering the air. She sighed inwardly. Of course he had known she was there.
He turned around to face her, his face totally blank, his eyes completely dry. More wounds adorned his chest, the largest of which stretched from his right hip, curved up past his chest, and finished at his left shoulder – exactly as it had when Dylan Joyce inflicted it.
Octavia could only stare open mouthed in a mixture of abstract pity and total disbelief as she struggled to take in the sight in front of her. She tried to speak, but no words would form. "Aerrow... I-"
Aerrow simply continued to stare at her, his expression blank and devoid of judgement. His entire body felt like it was on fire, but he didn't resist it. Instead, he welcomed it, savoured it. He loved it, the agony shooting through his every muscle.
It detracted from the mental agony, as he inflicted the pain his loved ones had endured on himself. It never even occurred to him how sadistic what he had been doing was until he saw the horror on Octavia's face, and the pain that quickly replaced it. Pain that he was causing her.
And finally, he broke.
The tears quickly welled up in his eyes and began spilling furiously over. He turned away in shame, unable to look at her as he silently sobbed, all of his accumulated grief finally releasing. He saw Sienna's face in his mind, quickly followed by Arianna's, Clarke's, and finally, Oceana's. All people that had been lost because of him. Veins threatened to explode out of him as he clenched every muscle in his body and screamed as he slammed his forehead against the wall.
He picked up the sword again and placed it over his heart, prepared to make one, final slash, when suddenly his movement was halted by a firm grip on the hilt of the sword.
He exhaled shakily and opened his eyes to find Octavia sat on the bed next to him, hand firmly holding the sword away from him, eyes burning a hole through him such was the intensity of her gaze.
Aerrow forced himself to release the grip on the sword. The girl silently took it from him and threw it aside before taking his hands in hers.
"I'm sorry." He whimpered, lowering his head in defeat. "I'm not the person you think I am. Not anymore."
Octavia was not one for comforting words, so instead she put her hand under his chin and angled it up, forcing him to look at her. "Aerrow. Think." She said sternly. "What would Sienna say if she saw you here, now, like this?"
"She's not here, Octavia." He said miserably, "She's stabbed, incinerated, and now half of me because I couldn't save her!"
He paused as more tears fell down his cheeks.
"I can't save anyone." He whispered.
"You saved me." Octavia said simply.
Suddenly, he was silent. He stopped crying, and his chest stopped heaving. Somehow her simplest of words had gotten through to him, penetrated the veil of grief and agony that had wrapped itself around him like a python.
He said nothing. He merely wrapped his hand around hers and squeezed as tight as he dared, as if his life depended on never letting her go.
Octavia. Her name fixed itself at the centre of his thoughts, blocking the darkness and the despair. Somehow, she had always been there for him, from the moment he had first gotten to know her, in that fissure, hiding from acid fog. From when he was losing himself to the monster created by Sienna's death at the hands of the grounder army.
Cleo aside, through everything Octavia was the one thing that had never abandoned him.
And he certainly had never wanted to kiss Cleo.
He was tearing himself up inside. He wanted so badly to be able to express his gratitude to her. He wanted only to hug her again, to never let go of her. To kiss her, with a passion he had forgotten the sensation of.
He wanted to feel her against him, pure, bare and whole.
He just wanted her.
But he knew he couldn't.
She was with Lincoln. He knew how much she loved him, because it was the same love he had felt for Sienna. It was a love that could not – and would not – be broken.
"I don't know who I am anymore." He croaked, fighting back tears once more. "Oblivion dictated everything that happened in my life. I was never even meant to live after Sienna and I-"
He cut himself off, not wanting to risk bringing up those memories. Octavia knew the story anyway. Sienna had been pregnant when she died, with the weapon that Aerrow himself had ultimately been turned into.
"I'm not Skaikru, I'm not Trikru… I killed my brothers. I'm not even 'Aerrow' anymore. I'm no one."
Octavia stared at him long and hard before she spoke. "You're one of the 100." She said simply, before leaning forward, so her face was inches away from his. "And you're my friend." She whispered, before kissing his forehead softly and settling down beside him. She rested her head on his shoulder, allowing him to lean his own against her, so they were supporting each other.
Aerrow felt his tears slowly drying. He still had no idea what to think, or what to do from here. He just felt drained, completely exhausted by both his new wounds and what had led him to inflict them. He lust let himself deflate against her, the heat from her skin seeping into his own.
"Maybe it was best that Sienna died when she did." He whispered a long time later, "At least this way she never had to go through what I am now."
Octavia had no response. She couldn't even begin to comprehend the sort of identity crisis that would come with being turned into someone else, so instead she simply wrapped her arm around him, and gently rubbed her hand up and down his shoulder.
"I'm going back to Arkadia tomorrow." She said quietly, "You should come with me."
She felt Aerrow shake his head softly. "I can't." He said sadly. "They'll never take me back. They'll only ever see me as the monster Oblivion created."
"No they won't." Octavia said.
"How do you know?"
"Because I don't."
Aerrow was silent as the two slowly sank down from the wall and laid down flat on the bed. Octavia curled herself towards him, pressing herself against his chest while being careful to avoid touching his already-sealing wounds, entirely uncaring for the maroon blood that seeped into her clothes.
At the warmth of her bare skin against his and savouring the delicate intimacy of their position, Aerrow felt all the pain, grief and sorrow slowly dissipate into the night. He was cast back to that night he'd spent with her in that oh-so-tiny fissure, their body heat again mixing, their lives irreversibly entwining together.
God how he wished he could return to that moment. God how he wished when she kissed him, he didn't pull away, and that he could avoid everything that had happened since.
It was a simpler time, before they were anything like the people they were now. She was a naïve young teen, totally ignorant of the machinations of the world around her, while he was unbroken, resolute on revenge, but undamaged by future events.
In all his time spent alone, wandering aimlessly through the wilderness, there was nothing he wished for more than to be able to go back to that time, to feel that way again. The knowledge that it was impossible, that he would never feel that away again brought the water in his eyes back with a vengeance, and she was quick to notice the dampening of her hair.
She shifted, staring up at him with soft eyes.
"You're going to be ok, Aerrow." she reassured him, taking his hand and squeezing it. "You're going to be ok."
He looked down at her, and for the briefest of moments, he believed her. "Okay." He nodded, as the grip of sleep wrapped around them both.
This chapter was difficult for me to write. I wanted to further expose Aerrow's fragile mentality as well as keep his relationship with Octavia strictly platonic – which it will remain for quite some time. Aerrow may seen very similar to how he was at the start of Into Oblivion however that is very much not the case. This time he is consumed by grief, not rage. The events with Oblivion have broken him, and he has no idea what his path in life is anymore. This forms a major basis for the whole story.
As for what happened between he and Clarke… Stay tuned to find out...
