"Oh, damn. I love Earth."
Quinn follows Jasper's admiring gaze over to where Octavia is stripping off her baggy pants, her insanely toned thighs and ass sending a trickle of jealousy through the girl's veins. Her skin is a tanned butterscotch all over, even despite confinement on the Ark.
"Oh! Holy-"
The entire group stares, mouths agape, as Octavia shamelessly marches forward on the rocks, cutting the distance between the shore and the shallow water in front of them. Jasper sends glances back Monty's way, a smirk playing across his lips, and Quinn can't help but agree with the looks of awe the hormonal boys are sporting.
She doesn't particularly know Octavia well enough to like or dislike her, but that doesn't mean she isn't gorgeous beyond belief.
"Octavia, what the hell are you doing?" Clarke calls, striding towards the girl.
The brunette says nothing in response, simply giving the group of misfits a knowing look before dropping straight down to the water below, a loud splash ricocheting in the air. Immediately Quinn rushes forward with the rest of them, staring down from atop the craggy rocks to where Octavia is hovering under the surface, her nose up the only things exposed.
"Octavia," Monty calls, and Quinn can hear the nervous edge to his voice. "We can't swim."
"I know, but we can stand." Immediately Octavia steps up to full height, grinning at the others, and Quinn lets out a breathless laugh.
Showers were so bare-bones on the Ark, so the idea of wading completely immersed in a body of water is enough to make this whole journey worth it, even if she has to carry an insane amount of food back to camp herself.
"Wait," Clarke cuts in, confusion plain across her face. "There's not supposed to be a river here."
"Well, there is," Finn replies easily, and Quinn finds herself agreeing with him. They need a break, anyway, and like she told Clarke earlier; what use was being alive on the ground if they didn't take time to really live? "So take off your damn clothes."
Without much thought Quinn pulls her thin, long-sleeved shirt over her head, goosebumps settling in as the wind wisps across her skin. It's kind of awkward, standing there in her bra in present company, and she pauses in her stripping, insecurity getting the best of her. She has so many freckles and moles dotted across her skin, which is way too pale for her liking. Her mom was gorgeous, sure, and she's inherited many of her genes, but having to deal with her body for nearly two decades is...she still didn't take pride in it.
Unbeknownst to her a pair of dark eyes glance at her exposed shoulder blades before resuming their own undressing.
She notices Jasper pause as he's trying to battle with his shirt, his eyes scanning out into the river before them, and immediately the optimistic mood just moments ago is sucked away.
There's a pretty decently-sized ripple moving underneath the surface.
"Octavia, get out of the water," Jasper calls nervously, his voice wavering, and Quinn inhales sharply as the ripple moves closer toward the brunette, fear setting in.
"Get out of the water, now!"
It's way too fast, and immediately Octavia is pulled underneath the surface, violent ripples the only indication she had been there previously. Her scream fills the air, and Quinn laments the fact that despite everything she doesn't have a weapon on her. She knows hand-to-hand, but...
The Ark really left them with nothing, and she hasn't had time to fashion herself a shiv.
"Octavia!" Jasper calls, extremely agitated, and Quinn can already tell that some half-baked impulse plan is springing to his mind, no doubt the result of his infatuation with the girl. "No..."
The brunette is being pulled quickly and forcefully away from shore, and Quinn harshly tugs her shirt back over her chest, marching out further on the rocks. There's a moment where the water is still, and Quinn bites her lip. This scouting mission is supposed to be easy, but it isn't completely out of the realm of possibilities that dangerous creatures inhabit Earth. She wanted a moment of reprieve from the tension exhibited not only in camp, but in Clarke and Wells' conversations. In the obvious guilt she exudes towards Monty and Jasper's situations.
Skinny dipping was fine. A relief, honestly. Dealing with some massive water creature hell-bent on eating Octavia alive? Not so much.
"What the hell is that?" Monty calls as his eyes follow Octavia's fast-moving form. "We have to help her."
Before he can finish his sentence Quinn meets Jasper's eyes, nodding as stoically as she can before starting to move towards the surface of the water, the gangly teen not far behind.
"No, wait," Clarke interrupts, her gaze locking on the loose, larger rocks adorning the shore. "If we distract it, it might let her go. Help me."
With the combined effort of the other three a decently-sized rock is heft into the murky waters below, and the strange water creature absconds, leaving Octavia flailing. Immediately Quinn motions to Jasper before the two of them dive in, the redhead taking a deep breath before everything above-ground cuts out.
It takes maybe five seconds for her to appreciate where she is, despite her situation. The feel of water pressing all around her is unbelievably cool and indescribable for the most part. It's like being in zero-g, but better, somehow. Tears prick the corners of her eyes, and it mingles with the rest of the liquid around her. She breaks the surface, wishing she could stay underneath forever.
"I got you," She hears Jasper say breathlessly as he hefts Octavia in his arms, and it takes a moment before she squints through the river and sees the strange abomination heading back towards them, finally realizing the rock threat isn't real.
"It's coming back!" Monty confirms desperately. "It's headed right for you guys! Quinn!"
Quinn slowly walks forward, stepping in the space between Jasper/Octavia and the river creature, and readies herself. The heavier, if lessened gravity of underwater is actually making things way harder than they need to be, and she swallows thickly as the creature comes closer. She sends out a kick to the beast, trying to put all the focus on herself as Jasper lifts Octavia onto the highest lip of the shoreline. Her impact collides, and she hears a choked hiss issue from the animal before she glances over at where her best friend is nearly on the rock himself.
Probably a river snake, or an eel. It has no limbs, and moves so fast.
After seeing Jasper and Octavia are safe on dry land Quinn makes her way towards them, but is cut short as a mouth of razor sharp teeth closes around her thigh, a pained cry calling out in the woods as she takes hold of the first hand in sight. Monty stares at her, eyes wide yet determined, and she's pulled closer to shore. Finn aids Monty in hoisting her up onto the rocks, and she takes the proffered hands, trying to ignore the sight of crimson blood spreading into the water and rock underneath her.
Wells withdraws from where he's helping Clarke tend to Octavia, and he marches over, crouching down before the ginger. A few seconds pass as his eyes look over the gaping wound.
"Clarke'll take a look at it. I'm sure you'll be fine."
Quinn abruptly tries to stand, but curses as her damaged leg gives out from under her. Both Finn and Monty hold her upright, the latter taking more of the weight, and her jaw sets angrily.
"I'll just be a burden if I go on with you," She spits, addressing Finn. "I'll head back. You guys make it to Mount Weather."
"You're going back on your own-?" Finn begins, but Wells interrupts, shaking his head.
"I'll take her back, make sure nothing happens to her."
"I'm coming too," Monty begins, but Quinn immediately shakes her head.
"You need to be here; keep an eye on Jasper. Keep him safe. I'll be fine."
As Wells binds some cloth around the open wound Quinn places her head in her hands, sighing deeply. The blood loss is already getting to her; she needs to get back to camp. There's a major artery in the thigh, after all. Without thinking much on it she looks up into Monty's dark eyes, swallowing thickly. The irritating pain her ankle is exuding really doesn't help matters, either, much as she had been determined to power through it. Quinn internally curses Murphy's existence.
"Just keep him safe. I'll be okay."
She can see her friend softly grinding his teeth before responding, and he nods. "Okay. But when we get back you'll be there waiting for us."
Quinn lets out a breathless, half-hysterical snort. "Always."
She grips Monty's hand tightly in her own before relinquishing, casting a look towards where Jasper is still dealing with a shaken Octavia, and Wells hefts her to her feet, the pair marching back towards the dropship site.
The only sounds as they make their way through the brush are bird chirps and bug calls, and Quinn takes a deep breath, trying to put herself in the moment. With the tourniquet on her thigh the blood loss is much less significant, but she still feels woozy.
"Thank you," She hisses out breathlessly, decently ashamed at the amount of weight put onto Wells' shoulders.
"What for?"
She pauses for a moment, caught between thanking him for herding her back to camp or the more honest answer.
"Interrupting Finn earlier. Making things about yourself."
A moment of silence ascends over the two of them before Wells replies, a harsh sigh exuding from his nostrils.
"I came down here to help Clarke, to make sure nothing happened to her. I didn't need to be here." Wells' face twists into a form of conflict, and Quinn internally appreciates that although things suck at least her friends are still here for her come hell or high water. "I know you blame yourself for their arrests," Wells continues, and she can feel one of the arms supporting her tense up. "But you should talk to them about it. It wasn't about your mom. Kane...your dad was on a tirade."
She doesn't know what to do with this information, and Quinn grimaces.
"Of course he was on a tirade. My dad never gave a shit about actual morality; he'd rather lock up his own daughter for whatever crimes she committed than face the fact that his wife dying was a problem he couldn't solve."
Again Wells doesn't meet her eyes, simply looking out into the foliage around them, and he sighs.
"Just...talk to them, please. Monty will tell you." A pause before he begins speaking again. "They missed you, you know? Both of them. Monty's performance in his apprenticeship took a downturn, and Jasper flunked just about everything after you were locked up."
Instead of comforting her, Wells' admonition only adds to the guilt riding on her shoulders, and Quinn swallows thickly, trying to suppress the tears building up in her vision.
They both should be wildly successful, Monty taking his place in engineering under Sinclair, and Jasper following his own desires for chemistry. It's a path that inevitably ingratiates him further into Farm's plant growth, but still. He's always been good at it. Even if she hadn't gotten them arrested when her mother was sick, there was no doubt her father scoured the surveillance to find anyone stealing from Farm.
If she hadn't come along the two wouldn't be struggling on Earth, and she hates herself for it. A bitter taste lingers in her mouth, and she turns away from Wells' gaze.
At least she has someone to talk to that can understand her inner turmoil. Her new goal in life is to protect her best friends, make up for whatever mistakes have led them to be sent down to the planet in a rickety tomb. Wells risked everything he had to join the dropship and oversee Clarke's wellbeing. From now on Quinn's goal is to make sure her friends are also safe.
As the meager camp comes into sight Quinn huffs sarcastically. "At least you get that I'm not my dad."
Wells halts in his support, the two standing stock-still outside the camp.
"We're not our parents," He says softly before beckoning her further into the encampment.
Quinn spends most of the time sitting outside the dropship, admiring the scenery. Her back is close to the inscription on the wall, and she has no idea whether or not Wells has seen it before he's marching off towards the brush to collect much-needed wood. The hard set of his stare is the last thing she sees before he strides out into the unknown, shoulders relaxing with each step he takes.
She feels for him, in a way that she supposes only those born from leaders can understand. Clarke, too. The cycle repeats itself, over and over, and though Quinn does hold disdain for Jaha for a number of reasons the sentiment doesn't spread to Wells. His words echo in her head as she takes in the sway of the leaves. They aren't their parents, though she can't really hold a grudge on the rest of the 100 for feeling that way. There was disdain in Wells' voice as he spoke those words, albeit soft and almost impossible to catch if Quinn didn't recognize it.
It's the same way she talks about her own father.
The sun is making its way further across the horizon when Wells comes back, and Quinn gives him a reassuring smile as he drops more wood to the meager pile next to her.
"Find any water yet?"
The voice is immediately recognizable, and Quinn lifts her gaze to glare back at Murphy's own, a surefire smirk adorned on his face. Wells seems to notice nothing.
"No, not yet, but…"
He finally catches on as he stands upright, words dying in his throat as he takes in the sight of Murphy and whoever he's managed to bring along as his lackey. With stiff shoulders he replies:
"I'm going back out if you want to come."
Murphy rubs at his nose, a shiv in his hand, and immediately Quinn tenses up. She knows where this is going, and knows it can lead to nothing good.
"You know my father," Murphy begins, hurt in his eyes. "He begged for mercy in the airlock chamber when your father floated him."
Wells goes to move past the two but Quinn hefts herself upright, ignoring the pain singing from her damaged leg. She holds out an arm, effectively blocking his exit, and ignores his concerned gaze as Murphy smirks at her.
"You say you're nothing like your dad and yet you're here defending the next chancellor in his footsteps."
Quinn holds his gaze unashamedly. "You want to know something, Murphy?" Her tone is acidic. "Your parents and I committed the same crime, and I'm still down here like you."
There's half a second before Murphy is lunging towards her, one hand already affixed on her throat, eyes gleaming with grief and madness.
"You're lying!" His voice is somewhat wavered, broken, even as his palm cuts off her air. "Like you would ever be the same-"
Amidst the chaos there's a weight trying to pull back Murphy, though the boy he came with is doing nothing but blockading whatever might help loosen the hand from Quinn's neck. The black dots are ebbing closer into her vision, strangled gasps resounding from where she lays on the cold ground before a voice interrupts the debacle.
"Hey!"
Murphy is pulled off of her in seconds, sweet air flowing into her trachea even as she sputters and tries to sit up. Bellamy is wrenching Murphy off of her, and some distance away Wells and the unnamed boy are detangling themselves from one another, both shooting glares. Brown eyes take in her crumpled form on the ground, a sardonic grin meeting Bellamy's lips even as he shoves the younger boy in his hands away from her.
"Good look for you," He says, before turning towards Murphy. "If you're gonna kill someone, it's probably best not to announce it." He raises his eyebrows towards the etching on the wall. "And I wouldn't do it during the daytime, in any case."
The former is meant for Wells, she knows. The latter is meant for Quinn, and she can't stop herself from gritting her teeth as she limps her way back to her seat. Despite the stiff set to his jaw Wells is there within seconds, looking over her wound. It's bleeding again, from all the movement, and one quick glance at her throat is enough to know that there are already marks there. They'll probably be purple and bruised, if the way Murphy was handling her is anything to go off of.
She casts a sidelong glance at Bellamy, hate in her veins as he leads the two boys away from the party, a somewhat dignified air around him as he speaks soundlessly. He wears the guard uniform well; almost as if he's comfortable in it. There's no doubt it's not his, though; the desperation in his eyes when he saw Octavia is enough to give him away.
"You didn't have to do that," Wells says, the words melancholy and reluctant. His fist is curled tightly next to him, and if Quinn doesn't know any better she'd swear there's blood pooling under his fingertips.
"Yeah, well," She starts, running fingers over her neck. "Clarke's my friend, and I'm not going to sit idly by while her best friend gets the shit kicked out of him."
A hesitant silence follows, before Wells looks off into the forest. "I'm not her best friend anymore."
"No," Quinn says, voice hard. "You are. I've seen the way you look at her; it's the same way I look at Monty and Jasper. Whatever she says, I don't believe you sold her out." After a moment she continues, softer. "I didn't, and they wouldn't."
Wells' eyes are hard to read. There's a complexity of emotions in his gaze, and after taking a deep breath he avoids Quinn's eyes and walks back towards the forest, defeat weighing on his back. He says nothing, and she finds it's almost worse than if he'd said anything at all.
Hours pass, and the wound on her leg has finally stopped bleeding, thankfully. There's a decent pile of makeshift shivs and knives at her side, and though fatigue plagues her there's no ounce of want to succumb to sleep. The wood Wells collected is now in the center of an enormous fire, the sight enough to catch her attention for an embarrassingly long time. Despite the distance, it's nice, and it's not like she has anything better to do, really. Whoops and cheers begin emitting from the other 100's throats, and someone is beating something metallic and hard together, though not in tune. She winces at the messed up tempo before standing, most weight on her other leg as she hobbles forward to figure out exactly what is happening.
It seems Wells has the same idea, because he emerges from the dropship with a confused look in his eyes. After seeing that Quinn is making her way towards the congregation he steps forward, taking an arm over his shoulders despite how reluctantly she tries to pass over control.
There's a girl with her arm on a rock before the fire, Murphy and the other boy taking some torn piece of the ship's hull to her wrist, a pained cry eliciting from her mouth before the bracelet is forcefully taken off, and a thunderous cheer emits from the audience as Murphy holds up her bracelet in the dim light. He tosses it into the fire without a second glance.
"Who's next?"
The cry comes from Bellamy, and honestly Quinn shouldn't be surprised. He strides around the encampment like he owns the place, and from the way Wells' arm tightens on her figure she can tell he's thinking exactly the same.
"What the hell are you doing?" Wells asks.
"We're liberating ourselves," Bellamy responds, a hand reaching out to restrain Murphy's lackey as he tries to press forward. "What does it look like?"
"It looks like you're trying to get us all killed. The communication system is dead, these wristbands are all we got." Now Wells is speaking to the group at large, not just Bellamy, and Quinn notes the knot of sympathy in her stomach as she looks over him. He's not comfortable, he's not happy playing the role of leader. Still, he does it anyway, and he does it well. "Take them off. and the Ark will think we're dying, that it's not safe for them to follow."
"That's the point," Bellamy cuts in, his following words sharp and sarcastic. "Chancellor. We can take care of ourselves, can't we?"
The resounding roar is enough that Quinn extricates herself from Wells' shoulders, standing firm despite her bum leg and the mottled colors no doubt making themselves known on her neck. Her chin is high.
"You want safety down here? You want a civilization? You want proper healthcare for your people, enough support that they aren't thrown to the wolves? Up there on the Ark, those are engineers, doctors, farmers. People who have studied what we need to know for years." Bellamy swallows at her words, though the movement of his adam's apple is almost imperceptible. "We need them, despite what you think otherwise. We're not going to survive without them."
Wells steps up to the plate, a new resolve in his eyes. "Quinn's right; we can't survive here on our own. And besides, if it really is safe, how could you not want the rest of our people to come down?" His last words are directed at Bellamy, who now has a determined grit to his jaw.
"My people already are down," He says immediately. "Those people locked my people up. Those people killed my mother for the crime of having a second child." At this point Bellamy has taken to standing before the both of them, revenge clear in his eyes. "Your father did that."
"Wells is not his father," Quinn says, voice more desperate than she hoped it would be. "And I'm not my father either. We need their help, but that doesn't mean we have to continue what happened on the Ark. That doesn't have to be the way."
Bellamy's gaze finally locks with Quinn's own, and she finds, with a start, that every emotion she holds for Marcus Kane is reflected in his dark eyes. There's loss, the most prominent, but a myriad of other emotions behind that, and she understands. Marcus is the core of her resentment, the reason some spark of emotion is lit inside her chest even now, even with the terrifying news that the Ark's oxygen is depleting.
She hates him first and foremost for the fact she didn't get to say goodbye; the ring hanging from her neck was given second hand.
"No," Bellamy begins, almost to himself. "Here, there are no laws. Here, we do whatever the hell we want whenever the hell we want. Now, you both don't have to like it. You can even try to stop it or change it; kill me. You know why?"
The pause and fire is enough for Quinn to really take in the expression on Wells' face, and she grits her teeth as Bellamy continues his tirade.
"Whatever the hell we want."
Murphy starts immediately, a chant fervently growing amongst the group, and Bellamy settles back into it with a self-assured smirk on his face. Both her and Wells are looking around, and Quinn doesn't have to turn to know that the conflict and defeat sagging in her expression is the same as his. Wells steps away from Quinn after a moment, and though she concentrates, there are no words exchanged between Bellamy and him. Simply unspoken glares.
Something wet hits her shoulders, and Quinn looks up in tandem with the others in the mob, caught off guard by the fact that water, rain is coming down on her body.
"Rain! Real rain!"
"Check it out!"
"We need to collect this," Wells says, and that's all it takes for Quinn to break out of her wonder. When she casts her gaze on the two of them, she swallows hard at Bellamy's looks of indifference.
"Whatever the hell you want."
They're his only words, and Quinn immediately grips onto Wells' arm, steering him away from the throng of overexcited youths. The lighting makes everyone's facial features more sharp and scary than they are in the daylight, but she focuses on weaving her way through the bodies around them. Silently they set to work on creating makeshift containers and canteens, as quickly as they can since they have no way of knowing when the downpour will stop.
Night falls on the camp, hard and dark, and despite the protests Quinn follows along Wells like a set of training wheels. Not because she wants company, and not because the night is eerie, but because it's obvious if there's ever someone to be targeted it's him. He's done nothing to warrant death threats outside his lineage, and in some way she recognizes they're similar. His words before coming back to camp feel so long ago.
Quinn leans back against the bark of a tree, barely a foot away from Wells, and she sighs heavily. Everything is a mess, and she honestly wishes Clarke were back at camp to take back whatever leadership Bellamy is trying so hard to claim. Thoughts of Monty and Jasper flood her brain, and she squeezes her eyes shut, slamming her head back against the tree. They're fine; Monty promised he'd look after Jasper, and with Clarke there there was no need to worry. Still, anxiety coils in her gut.
She's thinking about how nice it is that the forest is quiet, a respite, before soft footfalls register in her ears. Immediately tensing, she clutches her hand around a rock, but the action is short-lived as someone knocks a kick to her temple before slinging her across a shoulder, and everything goes black.
Note:
Octavia didn't get chomped, and Wells is more involved. Hooray.