a/n Thank you, wonderful readers, awesome reviewers. Happy reading!
It is a short week – or, at least, Clarke cannot help but feel that it rushes past all too quickly. She would rather prefer the last seven days before their peaceful valley is invaded by the massed forces of Wonkru to stretch out forever.
Not that they are invading, of course. They are coming to share the valley peacefully, and their leader is, in fact, family to her. But all the same, she cannot help but cling on to the last remnants of the uncomplicated family life she lives with her lover and children. And their friends from space, too, but somehow she's grown accustomed to their company already. Monty and Harper have always been easy to get on with, and they have spent the greater part of this week volunteering to drive the rover between Polis and Shallow Valley in order to transport all that Wonkru cannot carry, so they have certainly not been an overbearing presence. Echo tends to keep to herself, or to Raven's company, or Harper's, so Clarke has not been obliged to decide quite what she makes of the addition of this former traitor to the group. The biggest surprise of all, she notes, is that Murphy has become quite so easy to get along with. She saw the seeds of this, she remembers, in his devotion to Emori back in the lab all those years ago, or even in his role in keeping her supplied with nightblood in the City of Light, but he has somehow grown into an insufferable joker with a heart, and it's really a little sickeningly wonderful to see it.
She knows that things will change, when Octavia arrives, but she is no clearer to knowing how things will change. The answers they have received on the matter of their children's safety have been unsatisfactory at best, and beyond the idea that sharing will be a feature, she's no closer to a clear picture of how the land will be managed and the people accommodated.
She may be the commander of death, and the former leader of her people, but all she can do, in this moment, amidst this helpless waiting game, is sit in the dirt and watch her ducks peck ineffectually at the dust.
"How's Horace?" Bellamy's warm voice interrupts her musings.
"Horace the first and second seem well. I think Horace the third might be getting old, though."
"Yes. I'm not an expert on the lifespan of ducks." He settles himself uncomplainingly on the ground by her side.
"That surprises me. Are none of those books filling our house about ducks?"
"No. Apparently Becca wasn't into her poultry farming."
She shakes herself a little. There must be something more important going on in the world than this. "Did you need something?"
"I reckon you'd probably laugh at me if I said I only needed the pleasure of your company."
As if to prove his point, she giggles at that. "Yes. Yes I would."
"Thought so. I actually wanted to tell you that Octavia will get here tomorrow. Monty and Harper just told me." She reaches instinctively for his hand.
"OK. Well – what's the plan?"
"I thought plans were your job?"
"I think they're Octavia's job, now."
"You might be right." He sounds sad at the thought, and she shuffles a little closer to his warmth. "I was thinking – this is so stupid, she's my sister after all – but I was thinking, we should all hang out tonight. As a sort of extended family thing, one last time before – before everything changes."
"Yeah." She agrees thoughtfully. "What do you think it will be like?"
It's a terrible question, she knows. It is vague and broad and, worst of all, completely unanswerable.
"I have no idea." He tells her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder and pulling her into his side. "But knowing us, we'll work it out."
…...
Emori was worried that John would disappear when they reached the ground, would be replaced by that cold-hearted Murphy that the relics of Skaikru still seem to detest, that single-minded survivor with no time for the feelings of others. She was concerned that, perhaps, the warmth and laughter that have become such key facets of his character over the last five years would give way beneath the pressure of life on Earth, and that she would find herself in love with a man who no longer exists. She loved him before their time in space, of course she did, but not in the same deep and all-consuming way she loves him now.
She is pleased to find that she couldn't have been more wrong. If anything, she notes, the return to Earth seems only to have further emphasised his newfound community spirit, as his definition of family has expanded seamlessly to include Clarke and Bellamy and their kids. And, sure, he's not exactly become a children kind of a person, but he seems to be enjoying the opportunity to rekindle a sense of brotherhood with Bellamy, and Madi is old enough that he can joke with her and call her hobbit rather than acknowledge that he knows nothing of how to be an uncle.
She is enjoying sitting in the house they have adopted as a workshop and sorting through the tech that has been salvaged from the bunker. Of course she is. Playing with electronics is one of her favourite activities, second only to screwing John Murphy. But she has to admit that she enjoys it even more when he walks into the room, unannounced, and interrupts her concentration with kisses.
"A little busy here." She says, trying to look fierce, when he pulls away.
"You're never too busy to make time for me." He informs her, and it's not far from the truth.
"You're insufferable."
"Yes. And that's why you love me."
She shakes her head at that, a smile playing about her lips. "Why are you here?"
"To see you."
"Wow." She deadpans. "Romance isn't dead."
"Also to tell you that Bellamy's throwing a party for the last night before his sister shows up. Because that's indicative of a healthy sibling relationship. And because a couple of roast ducks and some cabbage and moonshine totally makes a party."
"I doubt there will be duck." Emori counters with spirit. "They seem to be pets, I don't think they eat them."
"Even better. Just cabbage and moonshine."
"Sounds like a blast." She says, and she thinks she ought to mean in genuinely, but it would appear some of John's sarcasm is rubbing off on her.
"That's what I said, too."
She laughs at that, and abandons her task. Sorting scrap can wait. Shoving this perfectly imperfect man up against the wall of the workshop and having her way with him, however, is a rather immediate necessity.
…...
Monty has been watching Harper for almost as long as he can remember. He can vaguely recall glimpsing her from the other side of the Skybox, once upon a time, in another life, that flash of blonde hair that could light up even the darkest of times. And he can certainly see, even now, in his minds' eye, the Harper he first observed on the ground, beautiful amongst and over and above all that was so terrible about their first months on Earth. He can remember, too, the way that she would hang on Jasper's every word, and all the same, still, he would watch. He looked out for her at Mount Weather, as well, as best as he could given the circumstances, and he thinks that was when things started to change. When he stopped trying to hide the fact he couldn't keep his eyes off her.
It scares him, then, that he is trying to pretend not to watch her now. He just knows, somehow, that she would be displeased to know quite how much he is worrying about her. And it's not as if there's anything he can do. He knows full well that he cannot wish children into existing, cannot bring about conception through sheer force of positive thinking. After all, if such a thing were possible, he'd have long since achieved it. He's the most optimistic optimist he knows, even after all he's seen and done.
Instead of watching her, then, he decides to take action. Gus might not be her own flesh and blood, but he knows how much she loves the little boy already. He is, it must be conceded, a very lovable child. Or perhaps, he muses, Gus just seems lovable compared with his rather odd older sister. He still can't quite work out what to make of Madi, and for all his optimism he can't quite overcome the feeling that she has the potential to be rather frightening. Slightly bizarrely, he notes, Murphy seems to be the only one who's really hit it off with the girl so far.
It is with caution, therefore, that Monty skirts around the edge of the fire, where Raven and Bellamy are in the midst of setting up the music and Madi is bickering cheerfully with Clarke about the menu and Gus is getting under everyone's feet.
"Monty." Clarke looks up from the fish she is gutting and greets him warmly. "Welcome to what passes for a party around here."
"Thanks. It looks good. I was just wondering – would it help if we watched Gus for a while? You guys seem to have lots to do."
Of course, it is not Clarke who replies. It is her precocious daughter.
"I don't think it matters to us either way." She says sharply, and he finds himself somewhat taken aback at her tone until she continues in a rather surprising direction. "But I guess it'll help Harper to spend some time with him and feel useful while she's at it."
He ought to pick his jaw up off the floor, he thinks, but he's not altogether clear on how he is supposed to achieve that just now.
"Madi." Clarke says gently. "I think you could have been more tactful about that."
"No." He finds his voice again. "She's absolutely right. I – thank you, Madi. I think it would do Harper and me good to babysit for a while, if that's OK with your mum, too?"
"Of course." Clarke agrees warmly. "He adores you both already."
"Thanks. That means a lot."
"Glad that's settled." Madi sounds, somehow, like a surly pre-teen once again. "Fish should be ready in about half an hour."
Perhaps he has misjudged her, he wonders, as he takes her little brother by the hand and leads him to the cottage he and Harper call home. Perhaps Madi is not frightening. Perhaps she is only remarkable.
…...
Raven doesn't know what tomorrow will bring. She knows the logistics of what it will bring, of course – it will bring eight hundred people, most of them strangers, the majority whole, and a good number single. It will bring, therefore, rather a lot of options which, presumably, someone as incredible as Echo might find herself in a position to make the most of. But she doesn't know what it will bring for them, in as much as there is a them, because she doesn't know at all what's going on in Echo's head.
She supposes she could ask. That seems like the kind of thing the actual couples she sees around her do, communication and honest conversation. She has a feeling that Clarke and Bellamy would just talk it out, if ever they found themselves in a similar situation. She envies them rather a lot, because she can't really imagine a miscommunication ever getting between them, when she sees the pair of them now, reading each other's every thought. She's heard it implied by her old friends that they did have a misunderstanding, once, but she just cannot fathom the thought of them ever being in this awkward limbo that her and Echo find themselves in right now. No, it's not plausible at all.
And it is not plausible, either, that she could suddenly become the kind of person who speaks openly about her feelings. She has too much baggage, tucked away, carefully concealed, to reveal herself to Echo like that. But as she looks across the fire at her housemate tossing back another shot of moonshine, grinning at something Emori has said, she wants very much to be that kind of person.
She supposes she has to start somewhere. After all, if she doesn't, then one of those eight hundred people is surely going to beat her to it. And she thought she was ready to retire gracefully into the shadows, she thought that she had resigned herself to watching Echo fall in love with someone more suitable. But that lonely night while she was with Ivon has proven quite conclusively that this is not the case.
"Something on your mind?" Clarke takes a seat by her side, without waiting for an invitation. Clarke Griffin always does what she wants, it seems, and some things do not change. It is just as well, then, that she has mostly been in agreement with her decisions of late.
"I don't know." She says, quite untruthfully, because honesty is, as she has recently concluded, rather frightening.
"Me neither." Clarke says with a shrug. "I can't decide whether I'm worried about tomorrow or excited about the future. Just imagine, we have a chance to build a real, peaceful society here. But I'm so busy panicking about the kids that I don't know what to think."
"How do you plan to deal with it?" She asks, and she somehow simultaneously means the anxiety and the future and everything about the situation, all at once.
"Just keep everyone I love close to me, I guess." Her old friend is staring at her, she can feel the weight of her eyes, but she is powerless, somehow, to do anything other than continue to gaze at Echo across the fire.
She supposes she ought to reply, but she hasn't anything intelligent to say.
"I recommend you do the same." Clarke advises at last, before standing and taking herself back to her family.
It takes Raven a while to process her words, because she's a bit slow on the uptake when it comes to matters of the heart, but she gets there eventually. She gets up from her chair, puts one foot in front of the other. Forces herself to circle the fire and pass Emori. And finally, decisively, channelling her inner Clarke, she sits herself by Echo's side. There isn't really space for her, but it seems that is no problem, as she leans into Echo's side and makes do.
"You OK?" Echo asks softly, as Emori suddenly becomes fascinated by Bellamy's attempts to get Gus to eat his supper rather than throw it.
"Yeah. You?"
"Yeah. I'm a bit nervous about tomorrow." Really? That doesn't sound right. Echo doesn't get nervous, she's pretty sure. Or rather, she was pretty sure, before hearing those very words.
"What do you have to be nervous of?" She asks, confused.
"What if they try to reinstate my banishment?" Echo asks, but she thinks the question must be rhetorical. There is, after all, no good answer. "And I'm nervous for our friends, and for Bellamy and Clarke's kids."
Raven can't help but feel something of a warm glow at that, at such blatant evidence that this woman so many see only as a cold-hearted spy is actually so full of love and light.
"I don't know what will happen." She says, because it is the truth, but it seems somehow inadequate so she takes a deep breath and tries again. "But I know that I'm not letting Octavia hurt anyone I care about, and you're on that list."
She feels her eyes grow wide at her boldness, and gulps down oxygen, trying desperately to recover from the shock of admitting that out loud.
"Thank you." Echo whispers in reply. "My list is pretty short, but your name is at the top. You know that, right?"
She didn't know that, actually. Or not in so many words, anyway.
"I do now." Without giving herself time to overthink it, she reaches an arm around Echo's waist. That's not an inappropriate thing to do, surely, between two people who care about each other.
Based on the way Echo's face lights up with joy, she is in complete agreement.
a/n Thanks for reading!