A/N: This chapter was co-written by my awesome partner in crime, Sealy!
'Patient, Fine, Balanced, Kind'
Alfie had been in a vicious mood ever since he opened his eyes that morning. The dawn had barely broken, and he awoke in a hot, sweating heap on the saturated earth. When he found himself in charge of Sascha the previous night, he had given over his tent for her to rest in. She still slept inside, fraught and exhausted by Will's uncertain condition. The humidity that plagued the air made Alfie think that a storm was on its way, if his Earth Skills classes had taught him anything at all.
He had heard nothing of Will's recovery, and even less of the people who had shot him. Everyone had been referring to them as Grounders, though who started that trend, he couldn't say. What he did know was that there was fear, spreading like a virus through the camp. There had been no other sightings of these apparently hostile natives, but every one of the young criminals had their own theory about who they were and what they wanted, each of them more grandiose and absurd than the last. The Mount Weather expedition had been called off, but Alfie was still restless. They didn't have the luxury of time to wait for the Grounders to make a move. Rations were running low, not to mention the fact that there were nowhere near enough tents and blankets to go around.
The Pyro had wasted no time in delegating jobs to everyone, based on their skill, or lack thereof. A few of the more practical-minded were already in the process of erecting a perimeter wall, designed to keep the criminals in and the Grounders out. But Jareth hadn't given Alfie a task, nor did he particularly want one from their self-imposed leader. He could see what needed doing, and that was scouting. If there was anything edible or useful in the surrounding area, now was the time to find it. So, arming himself with the piece of scrap metal he was using for a weapon, he snuck past the builders and went out into the trees.
The search did nothing to improve his temper. He spent the best part of the humid day out in the woods looking for food and supplies, and all he had for his trouble was a handful of spoiled berries. He ate them on the way back to camp that evening, the taste of them as bitter as his mood. He was planning to check on Sascha, before he spotted the silhouette of someone familiar against the warm, grey dusk. It was Marlow. Almost immediately, he changed course to her direction – if anyone could get him out of this funk, she could. Blinking against the sharp grey light, he began to realise that she wasn't alone. The group that surrounded her seemed to be talking, but the light drowned out their features. He was about to call out in greeting, until he saw the flash of a blade.
Within a matter of moments, Marlow was on her knees. Some boys were holding her down, and she struggled. The knife was put to Marlow's wrist, and Alfie broke into a sprint.
"HEY!" he called out – hopefully a distraction if nothing else. Marlow's attackers were out of earshot, but the leader seemed to glance back at his call. Alfie recognised him immediately as Efren, a piece of shit from the cells who was usually more lackey than bully. He pushed on, faster now, but the ground felt like it was back-pedalling beneath his feet. The wet soil gave him no purchase, and he scrambled for a few heart-stopping seconds. The crowd had shifted. He couldn't see Marlow any more, couldn't see what was happening to her. It spurred him onwards. There were people in his way and as he reached them he pushed them aside indiscriminately. Bodies flew left and right as he marched his way through the mob, right up into the shocked face of the boy with the knife.
Alfie greeted him with a shove to the chest. The force sent Efren jogging backwards.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" Alfie barked into his face. "You must think you're really tough, yeah? Waving a knife around at people like that?" He stopped long enough to cast Marlow a concerned glance. "You alright, Drift?" he asked, his voice losing none of its edge.
Marlow was persuading the hungry crowd to stay away, but her words were lost in the cheers and whoops. She gave Alfie a shaken look and said, "Yes, I'm fine. I don't even have a scratch."
His eyes searched her for the truth of that, hunting for a bruise, a scrape – anything that would make his blood course all the quicker.
"The kid's all bark, Al," Marlow continued, nervously tucking her hair behind her ear. "Let's just –" She stopped and watched in silence as a dark liquid trickled down her forearm. It looked black under the grey sky, but it was there, and it was blood. "Fucking hell," she murmured in horror.
The trail of blood held his hot red gaze until it touched her elbow, where it began to pool. All was silent but for the baying of the crowd that drew up like prison walls on all sides. Suddenly he was back in the cells, and the adrenaline was a fire in him. Efren was watching the blood too, his face drained of colour.
"You cut her," Alfie said in a monotone statement. His hands curled into fists, ready and eager.
Efren stared back at him. There was not an inch of remorse on his grinning face. The beads of sweat springing to his brow were the only things that betrayed his discomfort. He was obviously scared, but the expectant throng around him were not there to watch him cower. Alfie had seen it all before: the peer-induced rush of power right before a brawl. It made timid boys feel like heroes in the heat of the moment and seldom ended well for those who let it get to their heads.
"The blonde bitch tried to struggle," Efren said with a cocky shrug. "Shoulda just let us take her bracelet, then it might not've happened." He smiled that aggravating smile once more. "It's nothing she didn't deserve anyway."
Alfie leapt at him. The crowd surged at his back and cheers erupted on all sides, but he was deaf to them and blind to all the world besides the pathetic little speck in the dirt his opponent currently occupied. Alfie grabbed him by the collar, Efren's sweat making him as slippery as oil. Alfie held tight and Efren looked up with an expression that just dared him to try it.
And Alfie dared. Wrenching back his arm, he watched Efren's arrogant expression melt to one of horror as he threw a fist right into the bridge of his nose.
Visiting day.
It was a day of hope for many of the young criminals, but for others, it was something akin to torture. Alfie knew both sides of the story, and he had both loved and loathed visiting day for longer than what felt possible.
He had prepared himself the way he always did. Clothes freshly washed and pressed, shoes polished and laced up tight. He was the vision of obedience, just the way you might expect a Councillor's son to look. What failed him were the bruises and scratches littered across his face and arms. There was no hiding them, even if he had wanted to.
In a line of excited prisoners, Alfie stood aloof as the others chattered and joked around him. They knew who waited for them, they always did – doting parents that still cared to take an hour out of their week to see the fading faces of their sons and daughters. He supposed he'd be happier too, if that was what awaited him.
The light above the door turned green, then opened. The guards ushered the waiting prisoners inside, and they jostled each other eagerly. This was a familiar dance. Push your way past the others, scan the faces, find your window, take a seat. Press that little white button and talk as though there was no smudged pane of glass between you and the real world.
Alfie scanned the faces of the visitors, his heart beating more than he would have allowed - hope was a slippery path and he couldn't let himself tumble down it. He reached the sixth window and knew his search was at an end.
Of course they weren't here. But she was. And for all his disappointment, his spirit lifted.
Marlow sat behind the glass screen like nothing more than a movie being projected on to its surface. She scanned him over with eyes like film-cameras and, preluded by an almost inaudible click of the button, she spoke.
"You've been fighting again."
Alfie grimaced immediately. He sat down heavily, hands shoved deep into his pockets. "Yeah."
Marlow drew back in offense. "'Yeah?' That's all you can say?"
The hurt was clear on her face, but for a moment, he couldn't understand what was so upsetting. He stared back at her hard as she pressed that white button again and cut off the line. Alfie watched Marlow's breath catch in her throat. She looked at him with wet, quivering eyes before letting her face fall into her hands. The sound of her tears was drowned in silence from that broken connection. He wanted nothing more than to reach out to her, comfort her with a pat on her shoulder, a touch on the hand. But something more than that glass pane stood in the way – there was also his pride, a great impenetrable wall that he could never hope to scale. Though his heart raced with urgency, he was forced to sit and watch her, as expressionless as he was powerless.
Her hand slammed the button. "Can't you see you're killing yourself?" she asked, her voice brimming with emotion. "Why'd you even show up today? Why do you keep coming to this damn desk if you're just going to throw it all away? They're going to float you Al, and it's like you don't even care."
He let out a frustrated sigh and turned his gaze aside. "I'm not talking about this again."
"Yes, we are talking about this again, and we'll keep talking about it until you finally let some sense into that thick skull of yours," she hissed. "Every punch you throw is bringing you one step closer to that airlock, but it's not this dark and beat up boy that's going to die. It'll be my best friend. No one will remember him now that he's been replaced by...whoever you are."
Alfie almost laughed in disbelief – it took a lot to get a rise out of the otherwise calm and collected Marlow.
"This is me, Drift." He shrugged. "Scars, bad attitude and all. I've made my peace with that and so have my parents. You should, too."
He watched her face become sickly pale.
"Fine…" she gulped. "If I'm not worth it, then Julia has to be, right?" The name rang in his ears and suddenly nothing was funny anymore, but Marlow did not relent. "She'll be here waiting for you one day. I know she will. But if you don't keep your head down and get yourself pardoned…"
"No," he cut her off and let out a long, shuddering breath. "No, she's not coming. She never will. She won't go against my Dad's wishes, and he's made his feelings about me quite clear. And you know what? He's right."
"Oh, so I should be listening to Kevin now? The Alfie I knew would never let that man dictate a single aspect of his fate."
"I'm just saying, holding onto the hope that I'm ever going to change or somehow atone for my crimes is just a waste of your life and your effort. It's me that's not worth it, not you. Never you."
Marlow slouched back in her chair, breaking her usual perfect posture. She sat there in silence for a few moments, and Alfie wondered if she was finally going to turn and run.
"Listen…" she stayed on the connection. Her voice much softer now. "Your parents lost their way. They'll find it again."
"Why do you have to keep talking about them as if it'll make a damn difference?"
"- Because, you only respond to pain!" Her voice pounded through the receiver, the connection slightly distorted. "You don't get the luxury of feeling numb anymore. Not when the rest of us are left here suffering. Julia included."
"Goddamnit," Alfie growled. He leaned forward in his chair, as if it would somehow reduce the distance of lost years between them. He concentrated on threading his grazed fingers into one another, before meeting Marlow's eyes to say, "You don't get it, do you? She's given up on me. And frankly, I'm starting to think she's made the right decision."
"You don't expect me to believe that, do you?" She asked. "I thought you were too stubborn to die. I mean, it just boggles my mind. Nearly two years you've been in here and I've never been able to walk away from this, not even for a moment. Tell me, what makes it so easy for you?"
"You think this is easy?" he demanded, holding her gaze as best as he could through that intrusive pane of glass. "There's nothing fucking easy about this, Drift. The very day I was thrown in here, I lost my chance of being pardoned. To be 'stubborn' would be to blindly hang on to the hope that I could one day grovel at the council's feet and beg for their forgiveness, after all this time, after what I did. They don't want that, and neither do I."
Alfie dug his fists into his knees, desperate to hit something, but his furious tone had already attracted the attention of the guards. They hovered nearby, waiting for an excuse to drag him away. He lowered his voice and spoke through gritted teeth. "I'm on borrowed time, and I'm going to damn well make it count. The guy I fought with yesterday? He was groping one of the girls while we were on laundry duty. She was a kid. He thought it was fucking hilarious that the guards were ignoring it – on purpose, unintentionally, it didn't matter. He was doing it right under their fucking noses, and they didn't even bat an eyelid. If I wasn't there to stop him, who would have? How far would he have gone? She couldn't have stood up for herself, not against a jackass like that. So I set him straight myself."
It seemed he had finally said something that resonated, for naive, little Marlow looked back at him completely disturbed.
" - but then what happened? Did you just…not stop? Strike him over and over again until it wasn't even about the girl anymore? Did he have to give you those bruises in the sheer panic that you were going to kill him? Because that's what they look like to me."
Alfie tried to offer some sort of objection, but she was right, and he was defenceless. She stared at him with those film-camera eyes, and recorded his every word misspoken, his every good deed gone wrong. She knew him too well. When she rested back in her chair, he thought she was done, but then she added, "Your mom would be so proud."
He gripped the sharp edge of his chair, curling his fingers around it until the skin started to break. He needed another outlet for the tears he felt threatening, and there was one state of mind that was too easy for him to slip into. Like the familiar, well-worn path in his solitary cell where he paced for days, his mind knew the steps, could walk it with his eyes closed. All he had to do was will it, and the anger began rising in him, the adrenaline firing like pistons from every recess of his mind. His vision narrowed, and the tears quickly dismissed. He slammed his fist down on the desk in front of him. It was no threat, just the first crack of lightning in the storm that had engulfed him.
"That's right, get mad at me," she goaded him, not even flinching at his outburst. "Yell, scream, tell me you hate me for all I care. Heck, if I could walk through this glass and have you beat me up I'd let you. Would you do it, Alfie? Because right now, I swear, you're pushing away the only person that's ever come to see you in the last two years. If that's what you want, I promise you'll never have to see me again, just tell me you'll stop this ridiculous crusade."
A guard drew up beside him, and Alfie heard the familiar clank of the metal cuffs. It was enough of a warning. He took a steadying breath and lowered his voice before he spoke again. "You know I can't. This is why I'm here. This is my purpose. There are people that need protecting and while I'm still breathing this manufactured air rather than the space dust that's waiting for me out there, I'm going to do just that. So don't you dare expect me to just look the other way and keep my mouth shut, all for some selfish, futile hope that I might save my own skin. I couldn't live with that weight on my shoulders, and I'm pretty sure you couldn't either."
"That's why you're here? What, you think this was your destiny?" Marlow pressed her fingers to her temples, her head shaking at him. "You could have changed things, Alfie. And I mean really changed things. You could've followed your parents, became a council member. Hell, maybe even Chancellor."
He scoffed. "And you think I'd be happy doing that? Making some unimportant decisions from atop a gilded pedestal?"
"You've got the genes to do it, why not? You could have done things right for our people. But instead, I'll be here, the only person who's heard your noble pledge and has a heart beating quick enough to fulfill it."
"Go on then," he said, trying his best to give her a mocking glance through the pane of glass. All he could see was his own cruel reflection. "Give it your best shot, save the Ark, change the world. I don't know what's stopping you when you obviously know so much."
"Oh believe me, I would," said Marlow,"but god knows they won't elect a girl with blood so filthy."
Marlow reached into her jacket and pulled out the deck of cards she always kept on her. Alfie watched her lazily shuffling through them until she held a particular one between her fingers. She stood from her chair and, in one sharp motion, wet the face of the card with her tongue.
"Have fun playing hero," Marlow said. She stuck the moist card to the glass and walked away.
The old, wrinkled card bore a bearded man digging a knife into his head; The King of Hearts. The Suicide King.
The empty expression on her face seemed to have stained the glass - that hurt, judging look, with eyes that were nothing but infinite voids of betrayal. He hated that look. He hated even more that he had caused it. She had gone, but his anger had not. She had abandoned him with it and no way to deal with its consequences. Only the card remained, the doomed king's sombre expression judging him like the fiercest of juries. He stood, and with a powerful lurch, kicked his chair clean against the wall. It clattered as it fell. The room dropped to a quick hush, prisoners and visitors all looking his way. The guards were behind him, hooking him under his arms again, just like yesterday. They weren't going to give him the chance to lash out like he wanted to. They threatened to take his visiting privileges away for good, and he just wanted to scream in their faces, 'What does it matter? She's gone anyway. Who would come to see me now?'
He kicked and cursed and spat all the way back to the solitary cell, where, as the doors slammed shut behind him and left him in the dark, he finally found some peace.
The crowd cheered deafeningly as Efren's nose exploded in a stream of blood. Alfie let go of his collar, surrendering him to gravity. His body seemed to bounce as it hit the ground. The thud of his spine against the earth was audible even above the loud jeering of the onlookers.
Just as Alfie expected, Efren was over-confident. Instead of lying down and accepting his punishment, he got back up. The blood trickled down his chin as he gestured to the crowd, indicating he was still fine enough to fight. Alfie was glad. One punch wasn't enough for this swaggering fool. Efren sprang at him, and the two locked limbs in a struggle.
On the precipice of his consciousness was the ghost of a ghost, a spectre of his memory made real. She watched him now with no glass between them, nothing to obscure him from those film-camera eyes.