A/N: Hola, faithful readers and newcomers alike. Thank youso much for sticking with me! I know it's been a very long time since I've updated this story, but a lot has happened – another round of abdominal surgery after getting pretty sick, a bunch of energetic touring on my travels, and then, of course, my stressful non-inspired, non-motivated brain to top it all off. But, I'm bacccck! I've read over everything I wrote from the start, re-watched some episodes, garnered some fresh ideas, and hopefully I can make you all fall in love with this story (again, or for the first time). Stay with me, and let me know what you think!
Tiny Recap (though, it might be worth re-reading the previous chapter if you feel a little lost):
A branch snapped at the edge of the forest and Murphy stepped out, his arms raised in surrender though his expression was anything but submissive, and directly behind him stood a young grounder male, his dagger pressed against Murphy's jugular.
Chapter Twelve
Clarke
Murphy wasn't difficult to identify, despite his battered appearance and the blackened blood smeared across his skin like war paint. Recognition aside, the changes she now observed since last they'd seen him were harrowing. Sure, he'd been a mess then too. Bellamy had been attempting to beat him to a pulp on the cliff top that night…and for good, if not entirely rational reasons...but this? This was something far worse. Clarke had a sneaky suspicion he'd been tortured. More than a suspicion really, a certainty. Bloody voids on his fingers where nails should be, and multiple small entry sites peppered throughout his clothing from undoubtedly sharp implements. Wounds not designed to kill, but to inflict pain again and again until a person cracked under the pressure. She winced, her fingers twitching in sympathy.
The grounder holding him hostage was a stranger to her, young faced and determined, but when she peered up at Lincoln she caught a glimpse of relief along with the recognition in his eyes. Still, Lincoln held his arms firmly away from his sides, corralling Clarke to prevent her escaping his protective stance. Instead of finding it annoying, it sent a thrill through her. He wanted to keep her safe, and Clarke wanted to let him. She was realising that made all the difference in her dealings with men. She shifted Savage in her arms, the pup content to be held for the moment, and settled her front against Lincoln's back. As inappropriate an occasion as it was turning out to be, Clarke couldn't contain her grin when she felt him shiver from the contact.
"Artigas." Lincoln cleared his throat and injected a measure of sternness into his voice. "What is the meaning of this?"
The young grounder, Artigas, pushed his insolent quarry forth. "Ai don hon em up mafta op yu. Em laik splita, en em kwelnes." (I found him following you. He is a traitor, and he was sickened.)
"In English." Lincoln replied. "I know you've completed your warrior's training."
Artigas looked vaguely mutinous. "Teik ai frag em op." (Let me kill him).
"Em pleni!" (Enough!)
Artigas repeated his first words with only a slight roll of his eyes, but he clearly respected Lincoln's authority to do so at all. He reluctantly withdrew the knife from Murphy's neck, allowing him to straighten, but kept a strong hold of his captive's arm.
"Sickened?" Bellamy edged backwards, his hand instinctively reaching for his gun. The teens gathering behind him eyeballed Murphy like he was about to swarm them, coughing and spluttering, and spread some mysterious infectious disease.
Clarke ran her eyes over his slouched figure. As always, he looked smug and deliberately unconcerned, but she thought he might seem…almost repentant. He didn't look particularly sick to her, though she knew well enough that illness could be deceiving. Murphy was pale – paler than normal even – and there was distinct purple bruising under his eyes. A recent lack of sleep could do that to a person, and an extended lack of nourishment. Then there was all that dried blood around his neck, front and cheeks that could only have spewed from his mouth and been hastily wiped away. Dry, not fresh. No – he looked like he might have been sick recently, but that clearly wasn't the case now.
"Less of the irrational panic everyone, please." Clarke pushed her way to Lincoln's side, deliberately ignoring his scowl. "He's evidently not sick now, or else why are you touching him? But I think it's clear he was. So what I want to know is how he got that way, and what you know about it?"
Murphy grinned in that slightly maniacal way of his. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you missed me, Princess."
"Now is not the time, Murphy." Clarke waved her hand in dismissal.
Artigas tipped his chin at her. "He was found in our territory many days ago and became a captive – spoils of war."
"And the sickness?" Clarke ventured.
Lincoln shifted at her side. "It is another tactic of war – infect the one, return him to the many, infect the many."
"Biological warfare." Clarke muttered.
Lincoln nodded his assent. "It weeds out the weak, quells the numbers – some people are naturally immune, others are not so fortunate."
Artigas added his confirmation. "Nyko sent me to warn you when he learned you were absent from the sky people's camp. I tracked you here, though it was hardly a challenge." It sounded a little like a reproach to Clarke.
"We had no reason to hide our intent." Lincoln admonished with a frown.
Clearly having had enough of the explanations, Bellamy stepped forward. "Murphy was banished. What could you hope to achieve by using him?"
"Actually." Murphy interrupted. "I was dumped back at the drop ship yesterday. Must have just missed you. Seems I really couldn't stay away."
Clarke gasped at the implication. "But that must mean the sickness has spread! We need to go back there; they'll need our help."
Lincoln crossed his arms over his chest in a firm gesture and turned to face her. "I think not, little one. You will stay here."
Clarke snarled under her breath once the shock of his order dissipated. "I think so, big man."
"Murphy may have survived, but we don't know that you would. That any of you would." Lincoln looked among them all and frowned deeply. "You're not going."
Clarke put Savage at her feet and stood with her hands on her hips. The oblivious pup lay down on her feet for a nap. "I'd like to see you stop me. I'm their leader and they could be dead for all we know!"
"Alright, love birds." Murphy grinned in obvious amusement. "Why do you think I'm here?"
"Because some people never know when they're not wanted?" Bellamy asked with a straight face.
Murphy smirked. "Because Miller and Monty sent me. They're fine by the way. Raven too, I suppose, though she was a little preoccupied with puking up blood. Fun times, trust me."
Octavia approached Clarke's other side, caressing her blade. "Do we still need this worm alive? I vote we float him."
Artigas chuckled and sent Octavia an admiring glance.
"As entertaining as the thought might be, we're not going to do that." Clarke met Murphy's eyes with resolve. "Why did you volunteer to bring us this information? You had to know you wouldn't get a welcome reception."
Murphy shifted, as though suddenly uncomfortable. "Atonement."
It was one word, but it was a powerful one. Clarke knew all about the need to atone for wrongs committed. Murphy had torn their camp apart on more than one occasion. He was the primary reason Charlotte killed herself. But didn't he act out of resentment and a feeling of betrayal? Weren't they, in part, responsible for what happened that day? Bellamy was his friend, probably one of the only friends he'd ever had, and he'd been prepared to allow the camp to hang him. And she had accused him of a murder he didn't commit, then sheltered the real killer from his wrath. Lord knew what he'd been through in the intervening weeks, but it was clear he was tired – tired to the bone - and wanted to come home.
"You're not actually considering this, princess?" Bellamy argued. "You know what he did!"
Clarke gently extricated herself from the puppy, approached Bellamy and put her hand on his shoulder. Savage whined at the loss of his favourite bed, but trotted over to Octavia a few feet away and lay on her boots instead. "I won't ever forget what happened, Bellamy. I was there, just the same as you. But, truthfully, Charlotte was a murderer who took her own life – some would argue that was justice for Wells."
"She was a child." Bellamy spat angrily, shrugging away from her touch.
"We were all children." Clarke reminded him. Lincoln approached and drew her into his chest. She smiled wryly at her co-leader. "Except you, of course...though, sometimes I'm not entirely convinced of that."
Bellamy shot her a glare. "We can't just let him back among us. It's like allowing a wolf to herd a flock of sheep."
"He's not about to lead the sheep, he's about to become one. Besides, people change." Clarke stated with pure honesty. "I'm willing to give him another chance."
She turned to face Murphy again. "One more chance to prove you're not the monster everyone thinks you are."
Bellamy looked stunned at her words and she knew she'd finally reached that part of him he so often hid. The slightly softer underbelly.
"Fine." He approached Murphy, jabbing his finger violently into the other boy's chest. "But I'll be watching. You step out of line and you're done."
Murphy looked at the floor then met Bellamy's gaze unequivocally. "I understand."
"Okay." Clarke let out a relieved breath. "Time to wrap it up and head back to the dropship."
"Clarke!" Lincoln growled. The word vibrated through her chest.
"There's something else you should know." Murphy hesitated before meeting Clarke's eyes. "Spacewalker was captured by the grounders as well. He wasn't looking so hot the last time I saw him, but he managed to escape before they released me."
Clarke felt an instant pang of remorse that someone she had once cared for had been treated so ill. She also worried, despite her mixed emotions towards him. But if he was free, then he wasn't a priority – she had to admit he could take care of himself. Probably better than so many of them could – he'd escaped his torturers after all. The rest of the camp, however, was in imminent danger, and they were her responsibility.
She nodded sadly before straightening her shoulders. "What's the status of the camp?"
"The death toll was at 12 when I left – many more were sick, but I think that was the worst of it. The biggest concern was the imminent arrival of the grounders...and your survival."
Lincoln frowned thoughtfully. "Our survival?"
"Dax returned to camp – he was injured and alone. Claimed he was the sole survivor of an attack by wild dogs." Murphy shrugged. "Almost everybody thinks your dead at this point."
"Jesus." Octavia and Harper exclaimed in tandem.
"What the hell?!" Jasper echoed.
Clarke looked from Bellamy to Lincoln. "You see why we have to go back, right? It's not a question of the sickness, or even the grounders attacking – if word gets out that we all died, that their leaders are gone, that the possibility of a new home is shot, it'll be chaos."
"More than Raven and Miller could probably handle." Bellamy mused. "Or should have to handle."
"'Whatever the hell we want' all over again." Jasper grumbled.
"So we split up." Lincoln decreed decisively. "Bellamy, Jasper, Murphy and I will return to lead the others safely here. The three of you will stay and prepare for our return."
"I know you didn't just tell the little women to stay safe and tend the hearth." Octavia threw all the nodding men a disgusted look.
"I'm the one with the best medical knowledge." Clarke reminded him. "I should be the one to go."
"And get sick if it still lingers? No. We need you here – we'll bring the survivors to you for their recovery, but I will not risk you in this."
"I agree." Bellamy said. "We need you here, princess. One of us has to decide if the school is actually liveable and start making arrangements."
Clarke dismissed him. "Of course you agree. You're practically a relic with your twentieth century misogynistic views."
Octavia cracked up and nudged Clarke in camaraderie.
Bellamy gestured between them. "I don't think I like this new found friendship at all."
Lincoln drew Clarke into his arms and backed her against the broken pillar behind them. In this position, with his head lowered and his voice a hushed rumble, they gained a modicum of privacy. He laid his hand over the site of her healing wound, pressing down gently to direct her attention.
"I do not say this out of fear alone, but practicality." He moved his hand to cup her cheek, making her instantly melt. "You are not yet healed, and as much as you try to conceal it from the others, I know you are tired and in pain. The fall also didn't help with that."
Clarke frowned. She didn't want him to be right, not in this instance when her instincts told her she shouldn't part from him, and she shouldn't let others do her job for her. But she was tired, and her stomach did ache.
She stared into his intense gaze. "I'm not weak."
"I've never known anyone so strong." Lincoln peppered her face with kisses like the fleeting touch of butterfly wings. "But there is strength in acknowledging temporary defeat, if only to rally again the next day."
"Are they always like this?" Clarke heard Murphy question.
"Worse." Bellamy responded.
Clarke ignored them both and sighed in resignation. What Lincoln proposed made sense, as much as it grated her conscience. "Fine. I'll stay. But you should let Octavia go and leave Murphy with me – he's not up for that kind of journey right now."
Lincoln turned to stare at Murphy, running an assessing gaze over his figure. "I don't know that I trust him."
Clarke gripped his collar and reached up to pepper his chin with kisses, returning the favour. His skin was warm and tasted faintly of salt. The scruff from the beginnings of a beard tickled the sensitive edges of her lips. She paused to look at him, relishing in his undivided attention. "I do, so stop worrying."
"Then that is enough for me." Lincoln decided. He pulled her in for a kiss – not a small, light touch like before, but a deep, wet one full of tongues battling for dominance. She leant fully against him, drawing comfort from his now familiar heat. He grasped her to him with the kind of confidence and passion that sped up her heart and caused her to take shallow, hurried breaths. She drew back reluctantly, her teeth grazing his bottom lip and pulling a groan from his throat.
Clarke felt an instant and uncomfortable pang in her chest. "Hurry back, and be careful."
"Always." He gave her one last fervent glance before striding towards the others.
As if sensing her need for comfort, Savage gambled over and gazed up at her, letting out a little puppy bark for attention. She knelt to pick him up and then cradled him against her chest. The little guy was an excellent comfort giver.
"Murphy you are to stay with Clarke and Harper. Octavia, you will come with us."
"Just wait a minute…" Bellamy began disputing.
"Shut it, big brother." Octavia quarrelled. "You know you'd rather be able to keep an eye on me, so don't bother."
Bellamy spluttered before grunting his consent. "Fine. But for god's sake, behave."
"Sayonara." Octavia called, waving jauntily as she followed Bellamy and Jasper back towards the woods that would lead to the concealed canoes.
"What about me?" Artigas trailed behind Lincoln.
Lincoln didn't bother turning back. "You're to go home, where you belong."
Artigas looked back at her and winked. "Looks like we're heading in the same direction then."
He jogged to catch up with Octavia and she saw Lincoln shake his head in exasperation. Her poor man. Clarke surprised herself by laughing. Murphy and Harper both came to stand in front of her with expectant expressions.
"I suppose we'd better see a man about a house." She joked.
Miller
Miller threw the now empty bucket to the ground with a clank and watched the last embers of the main camp fire sizzle out. Smoke billowed skywards in great choking clouds that stung his eyes, just at the smell of charred wood stung his nostrils. It was the first time since they'd set up a permanent home at the dropship that the fire was being extinguished altogether, and it felt mildly prophetic. They thought they'd be safe within these walls, so painstakingly put together with scrap metal and trees. But the time had come for them to move on from the only safety they'd known on the ground, or else risk annihilation.
Things probably couldn't be any worse. Actually, scratch that. They most definitely could get worse – you know, say, if the grounders reached them before they managed to clear out the camp. What was left of it, that is. He and Raven obviously couldn't have done a worse job at managing these teens. He didn't know what it took to keep them in line, but he with his easy-going mannerisms, and Raven with her preoccupation of all things engineering, clearly didn't have it. Maybe all it took was a bossy blonde who liked inspirational speeches, and a guy with a big brother complex who aced at them.
"What are we going to tell Clarke?" Monty's eyes were huge orbs in his face as he approached Miller.
He tugged his backpack further up his shoulders and eyed the teenagers straggling behind him. There was roughly forty of them…forty teens that didn't buy into Dax's scaremongering tactics and blatant peer pressure attempts. Bundled up with as many practical possessions as they could carry. But that left the forty or so that did, now traipsing somewhere outside the camp walls among the hunting grounders.
"How about we just concentrate on getting out of here alive." Raven marched past them towards the dropship with determined strides. It had been emptied of all essentials but she'd confided in him that she might be able to lock it remotely. Keep it safe for their use in the future, if ever a time should come when it was safe to return. "We can worry about how to explain the loss of half the camp to mummy and daddy later."
He knew she was frustrated and blaming herself for the earlier defections, and he'd make her see reason later. It was neither of their faults – when the rest of the camp had exited the dropship to that tense scene it was only a matter of time before dissention brewed. That many of them still feared getting sick or being held back by those who were still recovering from the sickness was as much to blame as anything else.
"Worse things have happened." Miller finally responded to Monty. He raised his voice so they would all hear him now. "I know everyone's frightened, and I wish I could tell you that everything is going to be fine, but I'd be lying. There are grounders out there, intent on killing us, but if we stay here death is a certainty. We're all tired, and many of you were sick and probably need more time before making this journey, but that's something we don't have. If we stick together, we'll get through this alright in the end."
The harsh bang and subdued click of the dropship locking seemed as though it was timed especially for the end of his speech, making a few people jump. Raven crawled out of the access tunnel she'd used, closing it seamlessly behind her before brushing off accumulated dirt. "All set."
"Right, we're going to do this in pairs. Stick with your partner – if they need help, you're it. If they fall behind, you fall behind. But I'm warning you, do not fall behind. No loud talking either – we don't need to send any scouting grounders a homing beacon."
With a final nod, Miller led the way out of camp with Raven at his side. "You sure you've got this?" His voice was a mere whisper.
"I told you." She sounded annoyed. Better than guilt, so he'd take it. "I scanned those maps with Lincoln myself. I know exactly where we need to go."
"I'm trusting you." He reassured.
"You better." Raven gave him a small smile. It was a little disturbing how much that little lip tilt messed with his insides.
He let his thoughts come into focus as they passed through familiar forest, headed away from the dropship and the grounder territory it stood on. They had only gone a few hundred metres when the drums started. They seemed to be coming from everywhere and nowhere all at once – rhythmic sounds that echoed off the trees and confused the mind. Filled it with anticipation and dread – exactly what they were intended for. Miller's stomach dropped.
"What is that?" Someone exclaimed.
"War drums!" Someone else shrieked in panic.
"Jesus." Miller hushed the rising voices and flapped his arms about in a signal for quiet. "We don't have time to freak out – let's keep going people, and pick up the pace."
He reached for Raven's hand, ignoring her furious pout, and broke out into a light jog. Monty was instantly by his side, glancing around worryingly for an invisible foe. Invisible until they wanted to be seen – or heard as the case might be. Behind him the teenagers lost all attempts at stealth – branches snapped under their pounding feet and their fearful pants filled the air.
Just as the drums increased in tempo, seeming closer and altogether further away, several loud blasts sounded over the forest. Metal screeched and earth shifted, rocking the forest floor as something large impacted in the distance, and covering the alarmed screams around him.
It lasted just seconds really, but the resulting silence was absolute. Miller had a really bad feeling about this. Really bad.
"What the fuck was that?" Raven hissed at his side. They had crouched on the floor defensively like so many others and now stood, looking around bewilderedly.
"I think…I think it might have been another drop ship." Monty whispered frantically.
Miller thought he might be on to something, but just because the drums had stopped, didn't mean the danger had disappeared. "I don't know, and right now I don't want to know either. I say we take the distraction as a boon and get the hell out of here."
"I agree." Raven worried her lip. He grasped her hand and gave it a quick squeeze.
"Not our problem."
Clarke
They stood in front of the double doors as though waiting for a butler to open them in a flourish. They would have been grand enough for it, once upon a time. Now they were stained with the passage of time – blackened and half rotted. Clarke lazily ran her eyes over the windows at the side, then did a double take. Did the ragged remains of that curtain just twitch? She must have imagined it. No, there it goes again. There was probably a broken window out of sight providing a breeze. Nothing to worry about.
The door creaked open, seemingly by it's own volition, and Savage seized the opportunity to dash forward, barking his shrill puppy barks as he disappeared from sight into the property.
"Savage!" Clarke exclaimed.
She ran after him, pushing aside the heavy door to widen the gap. Then she stopped cold. In the middle of the marbled atrium, among the collection of browned, crackling leaves and tangled draping of wires, a tall stranger stood with her puppy in his arms.
