Dear Readers: I don't want to spoil you, but I feel obligated to warn that there are triggers ahead. Please keep that in mind before deciding to read further.

"If we take the time to cut boards, we can divide our building resources better. The downside to that being that none of us actually know how to cut a decent board. Or what a decent board might be. Trying to figure it out might a while."

The kid's name was Chris. He was chatty, but he had good ideas. The problem was he wasn't exactly speaking to me. He was talking to his fellow engineers or whatever they were. They nodded their heads and stroked their chins and generally ignored me as they got deeper into their weird engineer bubble of possibilities.

I stood with my arms crossed, watching them go at it.

"We would also need to design and construct tools that would allow us to cut boards of standard width and length so that the process would go smoothly. A saw, a planer to smooth rough edges. Shingles of some kind would be good."

"We could build several houses at the same time," a third kid put in.

"A hundred?" Chris asked skeptically.

I exchanged a sidelong glance with Miller.

A tall kid with darker skin and long brown hair down his back was watching everybody and keeping quiet. Considering he was the only design genius not tossing out ideas, he drew my attention. I could almost see the wheels turning in his head, but he kept it to himself. I'd give him one more minute to throw out something useful. If he didn't, he was going back to working on the wall.

"Two or three is better than none," Chris' opponent—Mike? Jack? Harald?-shot back

"We're talking about hundreds of man hours required to design, set, and test intruments for which we have no resources and no way to get them," some other kid pointed out.

"That's-"

"But if you would just-"

"Alright!" I cut in.

Blessed silence.

"You, kid with the long hair. What's your name?"

He tilted his head. "Peter."

"Okay, Peter. Care to share?"

All eyes turned on him. He looked them all over in turn. People on the Ark studying the same thing tend to know each other. Nobody here seemed to realize he existed until I pointed him out.

Interesting.

Peter met my gaze. "Waginogans."

"Gonna have to give me more than a fancy word, Peter."

"It's a type of housing used by the Algonquin tribe in parts of Old Canada. The Iroquois used longhouses. The structures are designed for communal living. They have the same basic frame made out of long sticks or branches lashed together in a dome shape overhead. Cover the frame with sheets of birchbark or weave a lot of other long sticks for the walls and roof. If you want to get really fancy, use brush mats for the roof. Once we get the hang of it, one could be build in two, maybe three days. Waterproof, shelter from snow, minimum cutting, adjustable size."

He said all of that like it was something anybody could have thought of, and at the end of his answer, he stood there and waited for someone to say something.

Nobody did.

I eyed him. Tall, not big but not little. Unassuming. The kind of guy who thought outside the box. And he may have just saved all our asses. "Make it happen, Peter. Listen up, people. You follow him, you listen to him, and you get that wagino—"

I looked at Peter.

"Waginogan."

"Waginogan ready as soon as humanly possible. If anybody else gets a bright idea and wants to talk about it, come talk to me. Got it?"

They nodded.

"And Peter," I added. "That goes double for you."

He didn't say a word.

"Get going."

They went.

Miller turned to me. "Wisdom of the fucking ages, man. We might get through this yet."

"Yeah," I grunted. "And he wouldn't have said a word if I hadn't picked on him." One small decision that could have cost us. "How's the leg?"

He shrugged. "I'll live."

My gaze wandered to the drop ship. "Well, that depends on who looked at it. You eaten?"

He shook his head.

"Go. Take some weight off. If anybody has problems they'll find us." I stopped. "Wait. Did you hear anything that sounded like a chicken while we were out today?"

He frowned. "A chicken?"

"Yeah. A chicken."

"Don't think so."

Sustainable food source. "Tell the hunters to keep a look out. I want those birds alive. We bring them back, construct a pen, and then we have access to eggs."

"That small white thing people used to eat?"

"Yeah."

"Huh. Wonder what they taste like."

"You tell the hunters to find a chicken, and we may get a chance to find out."

"You gonna eat?"

I shook my head. "I've got something to check on."

It had only been a few hours. Probably wasn't something Sam—the girl—had figured out within ten minutes and magically completed in the time since I'd assigned her the task. Still, I grabbed a packet of berries and went to find her. It took awhile. I had a million things to sort out. Delegating only got me so far. For every semi-responsible person I met, there were five or six dickwads that would rather sit on their asses than get something done. The first few days that didn't bother me as long as they were loyal.

That was before the Grounders. Before the nights started to get colder. If I remembered my Earth Skills classes, the leaves would start changing before long. And while I'm sure that was nice to look at, turning colors meant the next step was falling to the ground, and then we were screwed if we didn't get it together.

I told the people working the meat station to start saving bones and boil them for soup. We'd figure out the part about bowls. Some bright genius standing nearby offered to work on that. Apparently kid had a thing for carving that got him Confined on the Ark. People didn't take kindly to metal parts getting mangled. Here, with all the wood, he was in friggin' heaven.

Least somebody was.

I eyed the necklace he'd made—some kind of pendant on a string—and jerked my chin. "Come with me."

We found Sam's tent awhile later. Baxter—poor sap. Who could do that to their kid?-stuck close behind when I opened the flap.

I don't do a lot of goddamn knocking. And when I saw some blond fucker on top of an unconcious Sam, with her pants pulled to her knees and his dick out, I didn't bother to announce myself. I just plowed my fist into his face.

I grabbed him by the collar and dragged him off, tossing him into the dirt and kicking him viciously in the stomach. "Think hitting someone and raping them is a good time?" I asked in a low growl. "Wait 'til you see what I've got up my sleeve."

I kicked him again and again. He wasn't half my size and didn't have half my motherfucking rage to fight back effectively. He grabbed my ankle and tried to get out of there, but I stomped my foot on his hand.

Bones cracked and he screamed.

"Shit, you're killing him!" Baxter yelled.

I almost barked back that the little shit deserved to die. Clarke's face flashed in my mind's eye. I paused mid-kick, breathing hard, and Sam's attacker took his chance. He ran out of the tent—right into the gathered crowd.

I had to play this right. The last mob almost killed the wrong man, and I was a part of that. Then Charlotte died. "Watch her," I barked at Baxter. "Put her clothes back. And so help me, if you even think-"

Baxter recoiled. "Dude. No. Some asshole did that to my mom." And his expression told a very long story about that.

We don't decide who lives and dies here.

I emerged from the tent, making sure the flap was closed so nobody could see Sam on the ground. "This little asshole," I began loud and clear so everybody could hear me, "seems to think that asking permission from someone to have sex is unnecessary." I glared at the crowd, prowling the edge. More than one rapist was here, and I was going to send a message that would be burned into their brains. "He's wrong."

I turned and waved out an arm. "Take a good look at him, people. A very good look."

He stood there like a caged animal, watching the crowd around him surge with barely leashed hostility.

I had to play this right. Nobody else was going to die today, but crimes would not go unpunished. "As of this moment he's banished from our camp. If someone doesn't say yes to sex—I don't give a shit what gender we're talking about—then you leave them alone. Or you'll be like him, out there, with the Grounders who are more than willing to cut us down where we stand. Anybody with a problem with that concept can get the hell out." I glared at each and every one of them. "Got that?"

Reluctant nods. A few kids looked angry, or frustrated, or fuck, I don't know, scared, but they all buckled under my fury.

"You two,"I pointed a few burly guys out. "Get him outside the wall. Strip any weapons he's got from him. He can make his own."

They grabbed him by the arms. Before they took him away, I bent low and looked him in the eye, pitching my voice so that only the four of us could hear it. "You come back, and I'll let the girls do what they want to you."

He blanched. His hand was swelling, turning colors.

Good, I thought with savage satisfaction. One thing and one thing only saved his miserable life today, and she was laying on a table in the drop ship.

They dragged him away, kicking. I waited for anybody to join him, but I guess his friends didn't feel like risking my wrath. That was a rat's next of new problems. If anyone decided to take revenge on Sam for their buddy's banishment, there'd be trouble. I rubbed the bridge of my nose, wincing at the contact. I still had a lot of pent up anger to get rid of, and now I had the added problem of figuring out how to protect Sam. Not her fault, but one more complicated issue for me to solve like the diplomat I just wasn't.

I went back into the tent just in time to hear a strangled cry. Sam was backing away from Baxter—fully clothed—while the guy had his hands up in surrender. "You're okay, you're fine," he said. "I'm not going to hurt you. It's fine."

Her terrified gaze shot to me.

Fuck.

I settled into a crouch a few feet away, about the same distance as Baxter. "Hey, kid," I murmured. "You okay?"

"What-"

"He's gone. Banished."

"Bellamy beat the hell out of him," Baxter added. He caught my look at his satisfied tone. "What? You did."

"Ethan's gone?"

I looked at her. "You knew him?"

Great big tears welled up in her eyes, twisting my heart. She held them back by some mystical force I sure as hell wasn't familiar with. "Wasn't the first time," she managed to say.

Shit. "It was the last time," I said, deadly serious.

She looked like she wanted to believe me, but couldn't quite convince herself.

"Listen, Sam, I need you to pack up all your things. We're moving you. Get you a fresh start."

She pushed back her red hair with a scraped hand and laughed a little under her breath. "How? There's nowhere to go."

I recognized that look in her eye too well. I saw it every time I looked in the mirror for the year after Octavia was taken. Trapped by the law. Trapped by the Ark. Trapped by other people's choices. "It's true that we have to stay in the same camp, but that doesn't mean you don't have places to go." I nodded at her head. "Are you dizzy or anything?"

"What?" She reached up like she'd forgotten about it. "Oh. No."

"Then get your stuff. We'll help if you want."

She liked her lips, eyes wide and face pale. "Bellamy...How far did he..."

"He didn't,"I said coldly, "and he won't ever again."

Baxter reached for the pile of bones next to him. "I'll get this."

Sam scrambled over. "No, I've got it."

"Okay," he said slowly. "Whatever you say."

We tossed all of her worldly possessions—which didn't amount to much—in a blanket and tied it. I had to hand it to Baxter; he stayed a good distance from her and didn't say anything. She seemed to appreciate that. It wasn't until we left the tent that I realized where I was going. Wasn't until I got in front of the tent, actually, and I was staring Raven in the face.

Her expression hardened. "You."

I lifted my chin. "Me."

"Give me one good reason why I shouldn't shank you here and now."

"Because I'll put you on your ass if you try."

"The way you did Finn? Right before he bled to death?" Her voice was rising, drawing attention.

I'd had about enough of that today. I got right in her face. "Take a step back, Reyes," I told her in a low, serious voice. "I won't hold back if you come at me. Your boyfriend took his life in his own hands when he left camp. Think about that before you go blaming someone."

She stared at me with red rimmed eyes.

"I don't give two shits what you think about me, but I'm not here for me." I nodded at Sam, who hung back, looking miserable. "I'm here for her."

"So?" she bit out.

"She needs somewhere to stay."

"Get her another tent."

"Not gonna happen. Take a good look at her."

She huffed, but her eyes moved from mine. She looked. She really looked, and a frown started to form between her brows. "What happened to her head?"

"Sometime today you'll hear about a dirty little pissant who got his ass beat for failing to ask permission," I told her quietly.

Understanding dawned. "Why does she need to be here?"

"Because certain people might want to take his fate out on her. Think you can handle that?"

Her face pinched. "I don't want anybody around right now. Just got rid of Jasper."

"Actually," a voice interrupted from behind the tent, "you didn't." He emerged and waved awkwardly. "Hi."

New respect for Goggles. "You up for one more, Jasper? Well," I glanced at Baxter, "two? They've got a project to handle."

"Sure," he said, like he didn't know why I had to ask.

I nodded. "Alright. Raven?"

Sam piped up then. "Look, nobody has to-"

"Yeah," Raven interrupted, hugging herself. "Let's just all get inside, okay? Just don't talk to me."

And she disappeared into the depths.

Well, that was easier than I thought it would be, but the day was early yet. I looked at Baxter and Sam. "I know it's been a bad day," I said, "and take time if you need it. But if you can, finish what I asked. Let him help you. You can trust Raven and Jasper to watch out for you."

Sam looked at the ground and nodded.

Girls down here were tough. They had to be. But that didn't mean they weren't as breakable as that precious glass I'd find sometimes on the Ark. Satisfied for the moment, I excused myself.

I walked to the drop ship. I went faster with every step, until I was almost jogging. The dull thud of my boots against the Earth was mocking me. Grounders. Finn dying. Shelter being designed. Settling disputes. Raven, Jasper, Sam, that motherfucking little-

I flung the parachute curtains out of the way.

Octavia looked up. "Bell."

I hesitated, gathering my composure. "Think you could give me a minute alone with Clarke? Get me something to eat?"

"Can't get it yourself?" She was trying to tease, but her smile was shaky.

"Too many fans out there," I replied, hands fisted at my sides. I was rigid, breathing a little harder than I should have.

Understanding. "Yeah. Be right back."

I held myself as stiff as a statue until she went by, disappearing. The curtains fluttered in her wake.

I took one step. Two. Then I was by the table, Clarke staring up at me. She was wrapped up in another blanket made of fur and a new shirt. It was blue, I noted absently. Or it used to be. In fact, it looked like a man's shirt. O must have searched far and wide for it.

Her brow puckered. "Something's wrong."

My jaw worked. "We figured out the housing situation. Sort of. It's a work in progress." I forced myself to sit in the vacated chair. It felt like every muscle was frozen. My hands clenched and unclenched on my thighs. "Got a few people working on it. It'll be perfect for us if we can get it to work. Told Miller about the chickens. They're making soup from bones."

"That'll help with stretching food a little further," she said carefully. "You've been busy."

I couldn't look at her. Just her shirt.

"Bellamy."

I didn't want to look.

I did.

Green eyes held mine. "Was it Raven?"

I shook my head. "There was a girl nearly raped today," I reported in a monotone, like I wasn't saying anything significant. It felt significant. It felt monumental. It felt overwhelming. "Apparently she's been raped before."

She paled.

"He's gone. I'll let the girls take care of him if he comes back." The muscles in my arm tremored. "Should have castrated him."

"Maybe."

I blinked in surprise.

"We need all our people, Bellamy. That doesn't mean we turn a blind eye. And the thought of him hurting someone makes me sick."

Sick. That's exactly how I felt. "I hate people," I told her. My voice shook. "I hate them, Clarke."

"You hate people who hurt others for fun," she corrected. There was that goddamn compassion again. "Did you take care of the girl?"

"She's with Raven."

"Come here, Bellamy."

I hesitated, then leaned in. A small hand covered my cheek. "Are you okay?"

Wetness stung my eyes for the second time today. I couldn't stop that. I shook my head. "More than once. Why didn't she tell me?"

"Only she can know that."

"She was afraid I wouldn't help her."

"You helped her."

"But before-"

"She didn't know you before." Clarke's voice was hard. No argument. "She knows you now, Bellamy. You did a good thing."

I leaned my forehead on her shoulder and closed my eyes. "When did you become my cheerleader?"

"Since I got shot. Don't get used to it; I'll be up and arguing with you before you know it."

I rubbed my forehead back and forth. Was there a way to suck in strength through osmosis? That'd be a trick. "I miss being a kid. I miss not knowing what people were really like."

"Not everybody. And maybe one day we'll have kids that we can teach to be better than we were."

I stilled. Opened my eyes. Raised my head and met her gaze. "Kids," I said slowly. I thought of Octavia as a baby. She was so small and a little on the chunky side. Her first word was my name. She didn't crawl, not really. She commando-pulled herself across the floor with one arm. Then she was standing and then she was running.

I thought about all that and I looked at Clarke. "Kids," I said again, tasting the word.

Babies. Little humans that scream, cry, laugh, and love their family 1000%.

Her mouth opened and then closed. A blush climbed up her throat. "Not our kids, per se. I meant kids in general. You know, repopulating the Earth. Though the last thing any of us need to be down here is pregnant." Her fingers clenched in her pillow. "I'm not saying anything else," she announced haughtily.

Too late.

Way too late.

I kissed her on the mouth. "I want three. Two should be girls. You know what? All girls would be good too." I knew how to handle girls. I knew how to beat the shit out of boys. It was a good combination of skills to have, in my opinion.

"Don't tell me that. I don't want to know."

"You've never thought about it?"

"No."

"Princess, you are really not a good liar."

"I'll try to work on that," she sniffed.

She'd never be perfect at it.

Octavia came back then. She looked at me with an arched brow. "You're feeling better."

I lifted a brow. "Did I ever tell you about the time you stuck a button up your nose and couldn't get it out?"

"Well, that was random." She gave me my food and water, then leaned against Clarke's table. "How old was I?"

"Two." I looked at the girls, one dark and one fair, and a rare sense of peace settled over me. It wasn't strong or overwhelming. I was too aware of what lay outside, and all the damn challenges that could come with navigating our problems. But this was my sister and my girl, two people I'd go to the grave for. They were settled in to listen to me with open expressions. And it hit me: these two trust me. They trust me with their lives.

What happened to Sam wasn't a lone incident. Not by a long shot, not in this camp. When I took on the role of leader, I took on their safety and wellbeing. I didn't realize that at the time. I was just trying to survive. I knew it now, and while the weight was heavy, it was one I was determined to carry. Because if I failed to do that, then I was failing these two. Some things I had no choice but to fail at. Not this.

The side of my mouth lifted.

Yeah. Girls for sure.