a/n Thank you, lovely folk who reviewed the last chapter. Please enjoy this rather Octavia-centric chapter - there will be more focus on some of our other relationships next time to balance it out!

Octavia is horrified. She wasn't aware that it was an emotion she was still capable of feeling, inured to horror as she has had to be in order to survive the Dark Year and sending people to the Pit, but it turns out that, even now, it can smack her in the stomach with considerable force.

Her brother thinks she is a threat to her own nephew.

How has it come to this? Has she truly lost her way so badly that he seriously believes she would harm the adorable child whose smiling eyes, she has learnt already, can so easily make her day?

Gus is joy incarnate, she suspects, and even Bloodreina won't stand in the way of that.

The girl is a slightly different question, though, she muses. She's almost old enough to be a real contender for leadership, and that's something she simply cannot tolerate. But based on the look of terror Bellamy has worn ever since he realised that his little sister is long gone, she strongly suspects that Madi will be making no dangerous moves in the near future. She is almost certain that her parents will stand in the way of any such attempt. Besides which, she tells herself firmly, any such attempt would fail. She is Bloodreina. She is unshakeable. She is adored.

Then why, oh why, does it hurt so much when her brother looks at her as if he detests her? Why does it hurt that he no longer trusts her? Or when he acts as though they are no longer family?

He has a new family now, and new loyalties, new responsibilities. This much has been made abundantly clear to her. Clarke and Bellamy have stopped breaking and bonding over impossible situations and have instead started to show that Earth and happiness may not be so incompatible. And whilst she knows that it should make her glad, it instead makes her sick to her soul with jealousy.

For the first time in years she allows herself to think of Lincoln. She allows herself to dream of the life they might have lived together, of the smiling-eyed children she might have borne. She finds herself instead in a waking nightmare, where his eyes are cold and he does not forgive what she has done. The recent reality of Bellamy's face as she denied wanting Gus dead, combined with her imagined version of Lincoln's face watching what she has become, is enough to break her.

At last she weeps.

…...

The rush of relief Clarke feels on Bellamy's return is almost enough to knock her off her feet. And then he nearly does, too, with a hug that's desperate enough to send her reeling, tottering backwards a couple of footsteps into the canvas of their tent.

"You're OK." She murmurs into his neck. "Thank goodness you're OK."

He pulls away, just enough to catch her lips and kiss her, long and deep and almost hungrily, and she is more than happy to reciprocate. His mouth is always enough to set her world back to rights.

Their audience, however, seems impatient for him to get on with sharing his news.

"I hate to interrupt, guys." Murphy is, of course, the one to break the moment.

Bellamy manages to release her lips but keeps an arm firmly around her waist, and reaches out towards the children with the other.

"How did it go?" She prompts him softly.

"I'm not sure." He says, quietly, yet somehow more confident than when he left their tent not so long ago. "She's had people kill each other. Hundreds, if I had to guess. She says it's a punishment for anyone who threatens her."

"That doesn't sound good for us." Clarke says what they are all thinking.

"Well, exactly. But she swears that Gus is in no danger. She got quite upset that I thought she'd hurt him."

"That's something." Monty contributes, improbably optimistic as ever.

"You haven't mentioned Madi." Raven points out perceptively.

"No. She said the same was true for her but – I don't think I quite believe her." Clarke can't understand why he is so calm about this. Is he so easily resigning himself to the wishes of his sister over the safety of his daughter?

"Then why are we still here?" She asks incredulously, twisting out of his arm. "We need to get going. Now."

"Clarke. Hold on. Let's not be hasty."

"How are you so calm about this?" She is on the verge of shrieking. "You just said you don't believe our daughter is safe from her."

"I'm calm because I know what we're facing now. And because she did promise not to hurt them, even if she was a bit more reluctant when it came to Madi."

"Reluctant? How am I supposed to stake my daughter's life on a reluctant promise?" She can feel her voice climbing out of control, overtaken by emotion as her wits have been, yet is powerless to stop it. She knows she's making a scene in front of her children and her friends. But how is it possible that the man she loves is being so... so blasé about this?

"Clarke." He turns to face her directly, and takes her hands, and murmurs to her alone. "I know this is frightening. But let's think about it logically, yes? A very wise woman once asked me to try that. We stay here, and we keep a very careful eye on the kids. We don't leave them alone with Octavia, ever, even though she's promised not to hurt them. We've got a whole group of friends at our backs, plenty of people to help watch over them. And then we can work out what it is she wants, and how to share the valley, and what's really gone on here."

"I don't like it." She tells him ineffectually as he strokes the back of one hand with his thumb. "I want to go back to the valley with the kids and live in peace."

"I know. I want that too. And I think this is how we get to peace."

…...

Following orders is what Nathan Miller does best. It has always been that way, and although he has sometimes heard it said that it makes him a bit of a sheep and that he ought to stand up for himself occasionally, he wouldn't have it any other way. Following orders is what he was born to do, and it's no cop-out or soft option. He does it to a high standard, and he does it with pride.

And he does it, most importantly of all, without question.

That brings him, this morning, to a bit of a difficulty, because for the first time in his life he finds himself wanting to question his orders. Or, at least, wondering whether he's taking his orders from the right source. Because Bellamy Blake has just walked back into his world, the friend and leader he followed for so long, and he can't help feeling distinctly uncomfortable at the thought that they don't currently seem to be entirely on the same side. As he escorted Bellamy and Clarke and their children into Octavia's presence last night, he couldn't help feeling that they all seemed a bit frightened, and that perhaps, he ought to be protecting his old leader, not leading him into distress. And this morning, when he appeared and demanded to see Octavia – well, he's only pleased she agreed to it and saved him from having to work out where his loyalties lie.

He wants to talk it over with Eric. He would know what to say, would have the compassion and level head to see every side of the issue. And, above all, he would be kind and patient and supportive while he grapples with this thing which is fast approaching an identity crisis.

But Nate's in the middle of a shift guarding Bloodreina's door. And Eric's in the middle of trying to sober Abby up before Clarke realises what is wrong. And it seems that it will be quite some time before they get a moment to simply be together and look after one another.

He checks the time. Octavia – no, Bloodreina, he reminds himself – has been in her quarters alone for well over an hour, now, since Bellamy left. Perhaps he ought to check on her? Ask if she has any orders for the day ahead?

He knocks tentatively on the door.

"Come in." Her voice is as cool as ever, but on opening the door he can't help but feel that her usual warpaint seems to have melted down her face a little. And there's something slightly wrong with the look in her eyes. And all in all, something seems to be amiss.

"Can I do anything for you, Bloodreina?"

"I don't know, can you? You're the one who knocked on the door."

"I just thought -"

"Don't." She snaps harshly. "Thinking's not what I promoted you for."

He bows, awkwardly, and wonders when bowing to his friend's little sister started seeming necessary.

"Very well, Bloodreina. I'll be going then. I ought to go and check all is set up for the Pit this afternoon."

"There will be no fight in the Pit this afternoon."

"Pardon?" Surely he has misheard her.

"There will be no fight in the Pit this afternoon."

"But, Bloodreina, there are the three women who were found stealing food -"

"And they will face justice." She bites out. "But not today. There will be no fight today."

"Very well, Bloodreina. I'll pass the message on."

"Thank you. And, Miller?"

"Yes?"

"My name's Octavia. Octavia Blake."

…...

Bellamy isn't happy. How could he be? Clarke is still cold towards him, still evidently less than happy with his judgement that they ought to stay and give Octavia – well, not the benefit of the doubt, not really, but at least a chance for as long as it takes them to find out what's actually happened here. But he's grateful, at least, that she trusts him enough that she is still by his side, quiet and almost surly, but outwardly supportive.

All the same, he thinks it might be the worst argument they've had in four years and eleven months. They've bickered a little, of course, over whose turn it was to tidy up after the baby or why he'd done something she considered mildly dangerous, but they've never properly disagreed over the welfare of the kids like this.

He hates it. And he hates his sister, too, by association, for causing this damn situation.

Miller appears in their camp that afternoon and passes on Octavia's invitation to come and discuss the move to Shallow Valley. He answers in the affirmative before Clarke has a chance to make public the difference of opinion between them, and they get themselves ready, and follow his old friend into the bunker.

He wishes they could have brought a little backup with them. Their friends seem to trust Echo, now, and she would certainly be handy in a fight. They make their way through the Pit, and as he holds Gus he positions the toddler's head against his chest. He doesn't want his little boy to have nightmares about this place. He rather expects Clarke to be making some attempt, too, at disguising the truth of all this blood from Madi, but on the contrary, she is letting their daughter look around her inquisitively.

He knows what she's doing. She's a clever woman, his Clarke. She's making sure that Madi knows to stay on her guard.

They arrive at Octavia's quarters, and Miller knocks, and opens the door, and lets them in, and then makes as if to leave.

"Stay, Miller." Octavia barks, then seems to realise how that sounded. "Please, have a seat. I'd like your input, too."

"Yes. Of course... Octavia."

They all take seats, Gus in his lap, Madi opting to perch on the arm of Clarke's chair like a curious bird.

"Welcome." Octavia says. Her smile does not look how he remembers. "Please, take something to eat and drink." She offers a tray of refreshments.

No one moves.

"I think you're supposed to taste it first." Madi advises her. "Isn't that how it works, when you're sharing food with people you want to make peace with? That's how it goes in all Bellamy's stories."

His sister looks ready to stab someone, and he wonders if he ought to interrupt, but Gus does so instead.

"Stories!" His son contributes helpfully. "Daddy tell stories?"

"Not just now, son." He whispers soothingly. "This evening we'll have stories."

"You're right." Octavia seems to have gathered her thoughts, meanwhile, and takes a piece of some foodstuff he cannot identify. "It's only proper for me to eat first. Here, Madi, eat with me."

He feels a cold horror steal over him as his daughter reaches out towards the plate, his sister holding eye contact with her all the while, as if this is some kind of test. He sees Clarke stiffen and place a hand on Madi's knee.

She doesn't just ignore her. She physically brushes her hand away, and he finds himself wishing that this pre-teenage rebellion phase would take a less life-threatening turn.

"Of course, Aunt Octavia." She picks up a portion, and he hears the message loud and clear. His daughter is not about to be intimidated by someone who used to be her hero.

Until she met her, that is. Until she met her only yesterday.

Octavia eats, and Madi eats, and he braces himself for her collapsing or vomiting or frothing at the mouth, but no such thing happens. On the contrary, his sister breaks into a true smile, the first completely natural smile he has seen on her face since the opening of the bunker.

"She's good, Bell. She's very good. And she's definitely your daughter." She leans across her desk and reaches out to clasp Madi's hand. "Welcome to the family, Niece."

a/n Thanks for reading!

Shameless plug: you might want to go check out my new story, Child of our Time, which is a post-S5 AU Bellarke reconciliation with a little sprinkle of time travel...