A/N this is in no way historically correct, like… i sincerely want you all to know i didn't even try. this takes place in some fictional place in north america and since it's an au, do the semantics all really matter that much? i mean the only reason woman weren't prominent figures back then is sexism, and do we all really want to be so true to history that we have no strong female characters? i think the f*ck not!
this fic is based on the movie timeline, which apparently isn't a very good movie according to rotten tomatoes, but i like bad movies and writing bad fics so here we are
i hope you enjoy this fic that literally nobody asked for!
/.\
We shall not cease from exploration,
and the end of all our exploring will be to arrive
where we started and know the place for the first time.
- T.S. Eliot
.
2018, somewhere in the world
"Guys, professor Kane can totally get it," Raven informs the group of people in front of her as she whistles low, ignoring the multiple strange looks she gets, and even the heaving sound coming another one. She shrugs, shrugging out of her red flannel and tying it around her waist. "What? The scruff looks good on him."
Raven is the only one out of the group he's worked with before. She doesn't know shit about archaeology, but she's badass at pretty much everything else, specializing in remote sensing and drones—which honestly, makes his job so much easier—and calling him out on his bullshit.
"That's like saying you find my dad sexy," Jasper Jordan, double-majoring in archaeometry and ADHD, interjects, scowl on his face as he takes another bite of his sandwich. He has a magnifying glass hanging around his neck with one of those reading glasses cords, like it might somehow validate the fact he's actually an archaeology student. The only thing he's missing is a head-to-toe beige outfit.
Monty Green, Asian guy with great hair who actually isn't as annoying as the rest, is kind of smart and another one of the proverbial Kane's students, tilts his head like he's considering it. "Well, your dad isn't too bad."
Jasper makes another sound like he's about to throw up his entire lunch, punching his friend in the shoulder. Some drops of sweat drip down the side of his face, and Monty uses the bottom of his shirt to wipe it away, laughing, "I'd prefer Wells' dad though. He's handsome and rich. Full package."
At this remark, Wells Jaha scrunches up his nose, from where he's sitting on a log, throwing his sandwich back on his plate and placing it by his feet. "A mental image just popped in my head that I didn't need, thanks for that."
"Hey Wells," Raven claps him on the shoulder, sinking down next to Bellamy. "I just heard someone mention your dad is handsome and rich. Could you maybe hook a girl up?"
Wells groans, pulling at the tan shirt sticking to his dark skin, "Can we change the subject please?"
The final one of Kane's misfit students, Clarke Griffin, is sitting across from him and being uncharacteristically quiet. She's smiling, timid and small, and it doesn't quite reach her eyes, picking at the bread on her plate absentmindedly. He gets into a lot of fights with her, like a lot, so she isn't exactly his favorite out of the bunch either, but he kind of feels for her. Her dad died three months ago so it probably isn't fun hearing people casually talking about fathers. That's pretty much the only reason she's even on this excursion trip anyway, she was an art major before her father's death.
She even only got in—since she obviously isn't even studying archaeology—because her mother and late father were and are funding the project with their Griffin Inc. company. It was nepotism at it's finest, since everybody else basically had to fight blood, sweat and tears for a spot, and he gets losing a father isn't a sob story per se, but—but everyone's been through something. She must know he feels this way, because they haven't gotten along right from the get-go.
Bellamy leans back against the log he's sitting in front of, wiping some sweat from his forehead with the back of his hand as he lets out a deep sigh. It draws a cocked eyebrow from Raven as Jasper, Monty and Wells continue to discuss fatherly love. He has to literally bite his tongue when one of them mentions Freud and the Oedipus complex, and it must show on his face.
It's hot out today, even hotter than normal (which is fifth circle of hell hot), and Kane's students are everywhere, all day, not leaving him alone for a single moment—which, usually he wouldn't mind as much, because he likes teaching and he gets their excitement about their first excavation—but today, out of all days, everything's getting on his nerves. Call it the constant heat frying his brain, or the fact he hasn't slept more than five hours tops in the last three days, or call it his sister informing him via text message that she's moving out of their house and into her big, tattooed, definitely-stronger-than-him boyfriend's loft.
(The boyfriend's technically a great guy and all, but he feels like he gets to be petty about this and sulk about this for at least the next three weeks. Since Kane's students are always there, they're an easy target.)
"Wells' right," he cuts in, finally, wiping his hands on his jeans to get the sand off of them. "We should get back to work if we want to reach the structure Raven spotted with her Lidar by nightfall."
There's a few groans and eye-rolls, but most of them get up and start to walk towards the excavation site fast enough. Clarke falls back at one point, matching his step.
A strand that probably fell from her messy fun is brushed back by her hand, stained with paint splatters. He knows she likes to work on her art in her free time, he's watched her draw during lunch or get in a quick sketch before bed more often that not now. She clears her throat.
"They look up to you," she starts, arm brushing against his for just a moment, focusing her gaze on their feet. "But they're working themselves to death. We get up early, dig all day and then go to bed late. The other day I found Monty asleep in the port-a-potti. Have you ever been inside one of those? Two more minutes and he'd have died of air poisoning."
"You done?" He turns his head to look at her, eyebrows raised in a skeptical manner.
She rolls her eyes, obviously not impressed with his act, shaking her head lightly. "I just mean, maybe… give them a break every once in awhile? Let them have some fun."
"Everyone can do whatever the hell they want, princess," he answers, dismissive, adjusting the strap of his bag on his shoulder, still looking straight ahead. He's not going to risk looking into her blue eyes, because they're the worst.
"That's not—" she sighs, collecting her thoughts as she scrunches up her nose. "Look, I know we don't always get along, because you think nepotism got me here—" His head snaps over to her, and he opens his mouth to protest when she continues, "which is probably the truth, but you know I'm good at what I do."
He nods, because, yeah. She's always very precise and responsible, asks for help if she doesn't know how to approach a specific job, and she is not afraid to learn. She's kind of a natural, but over his dead body he's going to admit that to her now.
"Right, well," she swallows tightly, taking a deep breath, offering him a half-shrug, "I'm not trying to get up in your business or anything—" instead, she is and she knows she is but it's not something she can change about herself because she likes being in control, "but you're going to run this entire project in the ground if by next week everyone is injured, ill or out of their mind."
"What are you, their representative?" He cocks an eyebrow, corner of his mouth turned up slightly in amusement as he glances over at her.
She breaks out into a grin, thumbs behind the straps of her backpack. "Wow, I didn't know you had jokes."
"Wow, I didn't know you were looking to get kicked out of the programme," he replies in the same tone of voice as her, sending her an unimpressed look but there isn't really any heat to it.
"Don't forget my mother is paying your bills," she teases, obviously making fun of herself. "One phone call and you're back to dusting off dinosaur skeletons in a second-rate museum in like, Dallas."
"Who says that's not the goal I'm working towards?" He retorts, dry, not skipping a beat and he feels himself smiling along with her, because hers is that infectious.
She snorts, humoured, running a hand over her hair to smooth it out. "Yeah, that'll go over with the girls real well, too, being a glorified janitor with a PhD."
"A fully-functioning girl in the capital of Trump town who goes to a museum, doesn't tell me the skeleton is fake because God is the one who created us and then manages to put aside her racism long enough to ask me out because I'm 'half-white anyway'?" He tilts his head, sending her a cynical look. "Yeah. Not happening."
"You believe in dinosaurs?" She pretends to be shocked, eyes slightly widened as she grabs a hold of his bicep. "But, Bellamy, you do know the bible said Adam and Eve, not Adam and T-rex?"
He laughs, opening his mouth to respond when they're interrupted. Monty yells for her to catch up (something about a discussion about ScarJo versus JLaw, whatever that may mean, she needs to put an end to) and she nods at her friend, holding up a finger in acknowledgement before turning back to him, turning around with her back to the rest of the students as she walks backwards. "See you later?"
He nods—a little stunned at her happy, carefree face—surprised at his own easiness around her. Her smile brightens at his nod, then she turns around, hurrying up her step to catch up with Monty and Jasper.
The problem isn't so much that he has to hate her out of principle, it's that he doesn't. Clarke cares about everyone, and she's smart, and pragmatic, idealistic even. She tenses whenever someone mentions her mother, isn't afraid to defend herself but also realizes when she's in the wrong. She is strong, very strong. He has an unreal amount of respect for her, after just three weeks and maybe, just maybe that's developed into the tiniest bit of a crush. Shit, she's gorgeous, too.
But they're from different worlds, not only is she five years younger than him and in a different phase of her life, she is also borderline rich, white and destined for greater things. It's futile to pretend they're not too different.
Kane, and his scruff, joins them about an hour in, met with a few conspicuous giggles and chuckles, rounding them up around the excavation site.
"Listen up, guys. It's 1354, Sonchageda. The people who live on the South side, below the river call themselves Grounders. Their opposing clan, the people of Mount Weather, the Mountain men, were occupying the village of Sonchageda," he looks around the group, hands pressed together in a triangle formation. Sometimes he just likes to be the centre of attentions and decides it's story time all of a sudden, they're all pretty used to it by now. "The Grounders were advancing, they believed that Sonchageda was once theirs, and were trying to drive the Mountain Men out. The Mountain Men, however, wanted to drive them over the river, past the monastery and up and past the mountains that gave them their name. Back to where the Grounders came from, where they'd been settled before the war."
"Back to where there was no chance for them to grow food, or build stable houses, or have animals. The ground wasn't sustainable," Bellamy adds, somewhat bitterly, before clearing his throat as he leans on his shovel. He meets Clarke eyes, who's looking at him curiously, but quickly looks away after a second. "The Mountain Men were trying to take away any chance they might've had to survive."
Kane nods, continuing his short history lesson, as he rubs the bottom half of his face with one hand, "The Mountain Men had retreated to Mount Weather, a well fortified castle deemed Maunde by the Grounders. Somewhere here, in front of the castle, is also where both sides had settled for a long siege."
He sighs, kneeling down to run his hand through some of the rubble, close to the excavation. He picks up a stone, some sort of pebble, flipping it over in his hand as he gets back up.
"The Mountain Men were trying to push the Grounders out of their area for over a hundred years. Their Lord, Wallace, tried to take the fight out of the Grounders, he had a prisoner, a woman. A woman of class and nobility, commander Nyko's sister, Lady Maya. During the battle, he burns her at the stake, on top of the castle, for everyone to see." Kane pauses, looking at his students.
Bellamy can't wait any longer, because he loves this story, filling them in, "Instead of demoralizing the Grounders, it whips them into a frenzy. They attack the castle like mad men and they overpower the Mountain Men with sheer passion."
Kane looks at Bellamy, in that proud/fond/a little annoyed way he does sometime, and since he's the only one here actually qualified to be digging he doesn't feel guilty for interrupting his old professor any chance he gets.
"So," Kane concludes, heavy, "Mount Weather fell in one night because of the death of a single woman."
"Lady Maya," Jasper weighs in, moving a hand in front of his face from left to right like he's envisioning her name in the air, "What a fantastic way to go."
"Burnt alive in front of all your people and for your brother to witness?" Clarke buts in, eyebrows raised defiantly.
"No, I meant, to save all your people and bringing peace after a 100 year war. A death can't be any more meaningful, can it," Jasper counters right back, waving his hands around animatedly as he talks.
"Alright, that's enough of the academics for today," Kane grins over at Bellamy, throwing the pebble over at him. "Let's go and get our hands dirty."
As the rest gets back to work, the professor claps him on the shoulder, leading him away from the students. "I'll be leaving shortly."
"Griffin Inc.?" Bellamy fills in for him, lowering his voice as he runs a hand through his curls. He glances over at Clarke, for just a second, making sure she isn't paying attention to the two of them.
"Yeah, something just doesn't add up," he responds, brow furrowed as he explains further, "A medical company somehow investing millions after millions in an archaeological project without expecting any sort of feedback, or progress reports?"
"They say you shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth," Bellamy tries, skeptic, "Or, you know, question filthy rich people how they want to spend their Christmas bonus."
"I know, I know, but they've been dodging my questions, not returning my calls." He purses his lips in thought, heavy look on his face. "I'm going over there to see what's up."
Bellamy nods, understanding. If there's anyone who has a natural distrust of the rich and powerful, it's him. "Be careful," he adds, just to be sure. The professor is the closest thing to a father figure he's ever had, even if he won't ever admit that out loud. He cares about the old man, and like he said, he doesn't trust the people he's meeting.
Kane leans closer, lowering his voice even more, "Look, I'd appreciate if you didn't tell anyone about this—" Bellamy's already nodding, but he raises his eyebrows, pressing, "Especially Clarke."
He huffs, indignant. "Why would I tell Clarke?"
"Why would I tell Clarke?" Kane echoes, chuckling to himself in that 'I'm wise and old and know everything' way that has learnt Bellamy to repress the firm need to roll his eyes. "We work together twice a year, Bellamy, until you either get annoyed to death by my students, I bore you to distraction with my stories about my failed time as a politician, or the project finishes."
"I think you dragging out stories about the six weeks you spent at a Parks and Rec department in Nevada would inspire any person with normally functioning ears to commit homicide," Bellamy teases, voice dry.
The older man presses his lips together in regret. "I told you my mother was a hippie and saving the trees seemed like a noble cause at nineteen."
Bellamy huffs, humoured, giving him the reality check he severely needs. "You were a receptionist, saving trees, in Nevada."
He smiles widely, shaking his head to himself. "You never once speak a word about any student, good or bad, but the last week alone, you've mentioned how she's managed to surprise you with her attention to detail, and actual intelligence, to me at least ten times."
So what he usually doesn't speak out? He's trying to give everyone a fair chance in Kane's eyes. He's trying to protect them from him. He's a great and fair man, but can be a pretty strict professor. He has multiple C- essays to prove it.
It's just that—Clarke has surprised him. He was expecting her to be just another rich, white girl riding on her parents' good fortune. Turns out she's actually smart, well-read and passionate. He's pretty good at reading people, so he doesn't get surprised often.
"I'm trying to grow as a teacher," Bellamy jokes, even though it falls a little flat and there's a flush creeping up his neck. "You know what they say, those who can't, teach."
Kane cocks an eyebrow, unimpressed at his failed attempt at trying to convince him otherwise. "Sure, son." He puts his arm around Bellamy's shoulder, his smile turning sour all of a sudden. "Just… try and remember you and Clarke are from two completely different worlds. We all know how that turns out."
Swallowing down an 'are you through', he tries to go the casual route. "No offence, Marcus, but I don't think I need love advice from a fifty-three year old bachelor who spends his free time cutting up bonsai trees because he actually enjoys it," Bellamy interjects, pulse in the hundreds because he's not ready to admit some of the things the professor is forcing him to.
Kane sighs, shaking his head as he squeezes his arm a final time as he leads them back to the excavation. "I'll see you tomorrow at lunch when I get back, yes?"
Bellamy nods in agreement, watching Jasper use a makeup brush to wildly sweep sand off of some engraved stone plate in horror. Where the hell did he even find a makeup brush? Who gave him the permission to even—"Duty is calling," he nods over to his student, brow furrowed together as Kane laughs in amusement.
"What the hell are you doing?" He barks, stalking over there and yanking the plate out of his grip protectively. For good measure, he smacks the brush out of his hand, because he's a little dramatic like that sometimes. "This is not the appropriate material to work with on this structure."
"Like, I don't want to be rude but I don't think this is actually worth our time," Jasper interjects, eyebrows disappearing into his hairline. "It looks like a piece of crap."
"What are you talking about?" He replies, indignant on behalf of the stone, observing the plate. The letters are mostly faded, but some of the decorated border work is still there. He suddenly knows exactly what it is, because he recognizes the style. He's seen it before.
"Come with me," he orders, staring at him blankly.
"W-what?" He stammers, looking around wildly as he laughs nervously. "You're not like, going to beat me up in the privacy of your own tent or something, right?"
"Jasper, just—" He closes his eyes, trying to collect himself and drown out his temper. "Follow me."
He nods, hastily, swallowing tight as he trails behind him. After a few moments, they reach a more secluded area of the site, halting in front of the sarcophagus Bellamy's been working on in his free time. It's the grave of two people, whose names he'd been in the middle of restoring.
Bellamy kneels down beside it, pressing the stone plate to the bottom front of it. The plate almost fits perfectly, save for a few smaller missing parts. He looks up at Jasper with a satisfied, fond look on his face. He just made another step in recovering their names. This is exactly why he loves his job. "Look. When it comes to history, the work we do, it's almost never a waste of time."
Jasper takes a step closer, eyes wide with awe as he looks at the bodies of the couple carved into the stone of the sarcophagus. "Wow, are they holding hands?"
"Yeah, I know. Very unusual for the time," he breathes, getting up to admire it himself. "I'm trying to figure out who they were, what their story was."
"You know anything yet?" Jasper wonders, leaning down to get a better view of them.
"Not much," Bellamy admits, leaning closer, too, arms behind his back. "I just restored part of the male figure. It looks like he has an infinity sign shaped scar on his neck. I couldn't find anything in the literature, but who knows, maybe the part you uncovered can help me along."
"Are you sure that's a scar?" Jasper counters, skeptical as he turns his know-it-all gaze from the couple to Bellamy. Like his opinion matters, he adds, "It just looks like some damage to me."
"I forgot you were the archaeologist here," Bellamy replies, sharp, narrowing his eyes.
Jasper holds up his hands in defense, "Just saying." He leans against the sarcophagus, causing piece of it to break off and fall down on top of Bellamy's foot.
He doesn't say anything, purposely directing his gaze to the top of the tent shielding the site from rain, his blood boiling. Not only does his foot feel like it's been trampled by a horde of elephants, he just ruined a 800 year sarcophagus that survived everything—from men to war to actual natural disasters—up until the point it met Jasper Jordan.
"I guess I'll go back to help the others?" Jasper asserts, grimacing with his teeth grinded together, which might be the best thing Bellamy has heard all day.
Bellamy directs his gaze at him slowly, nose slightly flared with anger. At least that gets him walking.
Before nightfall, they reach the top of some sort of structure, but it's hard to tell what it is exactly. His gut tells him it's the monastery. The remains of the castle are far enough away that it could be. And since it was covered by ground and safe from erosion for all these years, it might mean the monastery was preserved quite well.
The next day at six a.m. after a short night's sleep (they're too close for him to really relax), they reach their first room, even find stairs leading to an unknown location in the course of the morning, and some kind of passageway to the rest of the monastery before lunch. The passageway has some sort of infinity sign, or rope on it and Bellamy feels it in his gut. They're close to finding something, something important.
Monty and Jasper are working on the passageway (after careful, lengthy, detailed instructions), Wells is trying to get the walls of the room clean enough so they can read the inscriptions on them, and Clarke is focusing on the stairs. A bunch of other employees of Kane are digging on the surface to uncover more of the structure.
He kneels down in front of the hole leading to the stairs, two water bottles in his hands as he tries to grab Clarke's attention, stretched out over the floor because the space isn't big enough to stand in yet. He hears her hum along to a song quietly under her breath, busy working on the third step.
"Clarke," he presses, but she doesn't yelp until he jabs at her calve with the bottle. He manages to avoid a kick in his face just in time.
"Bellamy," she breathes, letting out a sigh of relief as she puts a hand to her forehead, yanking out her earbuds. She eyes the water bottle in his hand, soft smile forming on her face as she crawls out backwards to meet him face to face. She grabs the bottle, then hits him in the arm with it, hard. "Don't scare me like that."
"You're welcome," he retaliates, dry as he rubs his bicep with his free hands. He regards her, for just a second. She's just so fucking beautiful, even in fluorescent lighting, it's unfair. How is he not supposed to have these feelings? There's a stain of dirt on her jaw, contrasting with her fair, rosy pink skin, a few strands of wavy blonde hair framing her face. She meets his gaze, and at the expression on his face she looks down, a flush creeping up her neck.
She sits back, leaning against the wall and he does the same, right across from her. He wipes away some sweat from his brow, brushing back his curls. His voice is just a little strained. "How's it coming along?"
"Slow, but I can feel it in my bones that this is leading somewhere—amazing," she informs him, leaning her head back against the stone wall, a determined look on her face. "It has to be the secret tunnels leading to the castle."
"Good," he replies, dumbly. He can't quite think straight, he feels like his pulse is going so fast not enough blood is coming up to his brain. It's quiet for a moment, as she searches his eyes, considering him.
"There's some dirt—" He points at his own jaw, swallowing a sip of water, as she starts brushing at her face on the wrong side. "Right th—" Finally, he just reaches out to wipe the dirt of her jawline with his thumb, hand wrapping around her neck to steady his hand. It might tremble otherwise, and that would be even more embarrassing. You know, beside the fact he is the least smoothest asshole on this planet.
She tenses at the contact, for just a second, taking in a sharp breath as she relaxes, leaning into his touch.
"Bellamy," she sighs, throat dry and voice a little hoarse. He isn't quite sure if it's a warning or a go-ahead, but he kind of feels the urge to just come clean, put it out there. Maybe it'll end in a sexual harassment suit, but at least he won't be walking around with this whole 'does she or does she not' scenario playing out over and over in his head.
He pulls his hand back, resting his elbow on his knee. He takes another sip of his water, and she does the same. There's more silence.
"I just want you to kn—" she starts at the same time as he forces out an, "I've been thinking." She breaks out into a nervous grin/laugh, and so does he. She nods at him to go ahead and he sighs, rubbing his neck awkwardly.
He hopes he's not like, abusing his power here or making her feel uncomfortable. Maybe he's read everything completely wrong, but the worst part is he'll never know if he doesn't just—tell her.
"I've been thinking a lot…" His tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip, trying to find a way to put it in words, as he plays with the water bottle in his hands. "There's something here." She stares at him, eyes slightly panicked, but still. He can't chicken out now. "Between us."
She opens her mouth, eyes full of confliction, then closes it.
He thinks of the way her eyes always find his in the crowds of students, how she casually touches him whenever she gets the chance; the squeeze of his arm in passing, the hand on his shoulder when she leans over, the just-a-little-too-long brushing of fingers when they exchange equipment, the longing in her eyes that one night in front of her tent when he walked her home after a night of campfire and moonshine, all the times her eyes darted over to his lips, the way she looked at him when he told the story about why he named his sister Octavia, how much she enjoys arguing with him about nothing, how much she hates arguing with him about nothing, that time she fell into the excavation and he had to hold onto her for a full two minutes before her idiot friends had the bright idea to maybe help him haul her up and she came to him afterwards to thank him and kiss him on the cheek, that time she caught him heading out of the shower and the image of her biting down on her bottom lip with a flush on her cheeks didn't leave his brain for three days, that time he accidentally overheard her defending him to one of her friends complaining about his rigorous work ethic, the way her brow had furrowed when Fox was trying to hit on him one time during a late night dinner, the excited confession about she hadn't liked him at first but did now when he'd showed her the sarcophagus, how she—the point. The point is—it can't just all be in his head. If it is, then—
"Bellamy," she starts, uncertain like she doesn't trust her voice all of a sudden, corners of her lips turned up slightly, before her head snaps towards the other side of the monastery. It sounds like there's something very heavy crumbling.
Suddenly there's a yelp coming from Jasper and Monty's side, "CAVE IN AT THE MONASTERY" blasting over the speaker system and Bellamy's eyes widen, scrambling to his feet before rushing over to where they are, Clarke not far behind. A part of the passageway is caved in, revealing a dark hole leading down to some sort of chamber.
Jasper smiles cheekily, sweat dripping down the side of his face, "Would you believe me if I said Open Sesame did the trick?" Monty elbows him in the ribs, which would be something he'd enjoy normally, but he could honestly not care any less at the moment.
"We have five minutes before oxygen contamination," Bellamy decides as he signals over safety helmets and rope, there's always time for yelling later.
He steps into the climbing harness, tightening the straps as he checks down the hole again, this time with a flashlight. It doesn't look too deep, but he doesn't want it to be the place he dies, for obvious reasons.
"I'm coming too," Clarke announces, determined, and he just nods, avoiding her gaze as he straps her into the gear before adjusting his own helmet as Monty attaches him to the rope. He hands her a helmet before lowering himself into the hole, not wasting any more time.
"Do you see anything?" Wells yells after him as soon as his feet hit the floor. It's dark, but can make out some sort of wall mural in the back. "Not yet," he calls back up, Clarke coming down right after him. Then his eye lands on an object on the floor, on the side. He detaches himself from the rope before walking over there, getting out a glove.
"Oh my God," he breathes, eyes wide as he kneels down next to the object, getting out a glove. He picks it up carefully, examining it for a moment before motioning over Clarke. "This is a document box, preserved in oil skin. Look at the condition of this thing." He holds it up for her to see, free hand on top of his helmet. He still can't quite believe it. "Do you have a bag?"
She's staring at the box in awe, snapping out of it as she starts feeling around in the pocket of her backpack. "Here."
"You guys okay there?" It's Monty's voice this time, but they're too busy to respond.
"Careful," he reminds her, helping her put it in the bag before she cautiously stores it in her backpack, swinging it over her shoulder as she admires the rest of their surrounding. She mumbles, to in awe of everything around her to speak up, "This is going to be such a find."
"We should get back up," he says, just as the ceiling starts to creak, a small rock dropping next to his feet. "I don't think this construction is going to hold much longer."
"Wait, wait," she retorts, holding up her hand as she walks away from him, towards the mural. From what he can make out it's a picture of some sort of religious character that's carved into the stone wall, an infinity sign once again making an appearance above his head. It's very detailed—or it was, before somebody got into a fight with it and completely ruined it.
He looks back at the spot where the came up, another rock dropping near the hole. "Clarke," he tries, a little urgent.
"What kind of asshole would ruin something this beautiful?" She frowns at the mural, running her fingers over it. Her brows furrow even closer together as she examines the crack through the figure's face.
"It's going to cave in soon," he urges and she nods, not taking her eyes of it until he pulls on her arm, dragging her back towards the light. Once she's positioned right, he hooks her up, more rocks starting to tumble down around him. He signals for Wells to start pulling as he starts to secure his own line.
Just as he's about to cue them to start lifting him too, something shiny catches his eye. He quickly leans down to pick it up even though they're yelling at him to hurry up, stuffing it in his pocket as they start to hoist him up just in time before the whole cave collapses in on itself.
"You're an idiot," Clarke informs him, heated, arms crossed over her chest as she watches him step out of his harness. "What could've possibly been so important?"
"This," he answers, smug, as he fishes the object from his pocket. It looks like it's part of a pair of glasses, a bifocal glass to be precise, which is really strange because glasses were not a thing in the 1300's.
Instead of snatching it out of his hand like he'd expected her to, she unfastens his helmet, pressing her fingers to his cheekbone. He winces, bringing up his own hand to realize it's covered in blood. It must've happened when he came up, but he hadn't felt a thing.
"Idiot," she mutters again, rolling her eyes slightly. This time out loud, she waves at the others, "Jasper, can you get me the first aid kit?"
After she fixes him up they go over to Raven to analyse the glasses and document. The glasses happen to be part of a pair Kane has, and the document somehow has his name on it, a notation on it requesting help. There's not a single bone in his body that doesn't suspect this is a very bad practical joke, but they could all use a break and Bellamy wants to know how he did it. He never suspected Kane would risk contaminating a site like that, but maybe he still doesn't know everything about the guy after so many years. There's no way Kane did it without anyone's help though, and the only person you can trust around here is Raven.
Raven gets out the beer, and he doesn't protest. Today was a good day, regardless of the wonder twins breaking a centuries old wall because they were impatient, and everyone's over 21. They can pick their poison and he's picking his battles.
"You guys are exhausting. Yuck. Living in the past all day, every day?" Raven stretches, after turning the analyzer on, scrunching up her nose.
"The past is where it's at," Bellamy quips, matter-of-factly, because he's not going to let anyone shit all over history, not even Raven Reyes.
"You know what the past is to me?" Raven cocks an eyebrow, mouth in a thin, sour line. "The reason my dad split, and the reason my mom started drinking. Also, kind of the reason my best friend slash boyfriend started dating a girl behind my back. None of you look to the future."
"The future? What's to the future but more of the same? Of your gadgets and drones and machines?" His forehead creases, getting just a little offended here.
Clarke laughs, almost choking on her beer, "God, you sound like a middle-aged soccer mom right now."
Raven huffs, skeptical as she she brushes some imaginary dust of her shoulder. "Plus, without my babies you'd be nowhere, let's be real."
"Hey, say what you want, but people cared about each other back then. Men had honor. Have you seen our president?" Bellamy takes a swig of his beer, shaking his head lightly as he leans back against the table. He's just a little bitter. "A nuclear apocalypse, that's what in our future. Nothing to get excited about."
"Jesus, you must be fun at parties," Jasper cuts in and Monty steps down on his foot not-so-casually, glaring at him while the rest laughs.
"You know," Clarke adds, meeting his eyes for a second as she swallows, "I think Bellamy is right. It's not about the rocks and the rubble, it's about the people. You know, like those two we just found. In the sarcophagus. Who were they, what were their stories?"
"And our idealist romantic artist strikes again. We know you care about people, Clarke, we've seen your portraits." Wells raises his eyebrows challengingly, and Clarke's cheeks color, glancing over at him for just a second before glaring back at her friend, eyes narrowed dangerously. Before he has time to wonder what that was all about, the analyser beeps.
Raven swivels around on her stool, ponytail almost hitting Monty in the face because they're all gathering around her to see the results. "You sure you want to hear them, Bell? It's a scary big technological machine, after all, it might turn into a self-sustaining, power-hungry robot and murder us all."
Bellamy rolls his eyes, pushing himself off the table to close the gap in between him and the computer. "Cute, Reyes."
She doesn't respond, mainly because she's reading the results with a firm frown on her face, biting on the inside of her cheek in thought. "They're around… 700 years old," Raven interprets, pressing a hand to her forehead, rubbing it like it might change what she's seeing on the screen in front of her.
"That can't be right," Wells presses, leaning closer to the screen to check for himself, eyes darting from left to right so fast he might get a stroke.
"My machines don't lie," Raven answers absentmindedly, like she doesn't even want to believe her own answer. "They never lie."
"Bifocals weren't invented until the late 1700's, but if that chamber hasn't been visited in over 700 years, how is this explainable?" Jasper states the obvious, but it's worse to hear it out loud like that.
"He should've been back by now," Bellamy wonders out loud, running his hand through his hair, stomach churning uncomfortably. Something is wrong. He checks his watch. "Marcus told me he'd back by lunch. It's been hours."
"Are you all serious right now? He obviously faked this. I don't know how, but he did," Monty reasons, shrugging and shaking his head in protest. "This can't be a thing."
They all look at each other, conflicted emotions on their faces.
"Let me call my mom," Clarke says, pragmatic, more to him than anyone else, frowning as she ignores Monty. "She has to be able to make sense out of this."
.
2018, Griffin Inc.
At 6 a.m. they're in a plane making the two hour flight to Griffin Inc. headquarters. At 9:30 a.m. they walk into a corporate building. At 9:36 a.m., they enter a large lab, where, behind a glass wall, is a big platform with some sort of circular device surrounding it, generating some kind of energy field.
"Mom, what is all of this?" Clarke is the first to speak up, confusion clouding her face. "Where's Kane?"
"Hi, sweetie." Her mother offers a tight-lipped smile, that doesn't reach her eyes, kissing her daughter on the forehead. She turns to the rest of them, offering them the same fake polite smile. "Welcome. I'm Abby Griffin, CEO. I wish we were meeting under more fortunate circumstances, but here we are."
They all just blink at her, on guard and not quite knowing what to expect. She continues, turning to the three men on her right, sitting behind a panel full of buttons and levers. "This is Sinclair, our best engineer," she gestures at the older man of the three, then at the youngest, "And Jackson. My most trustworthy nurse." She nods at another man at her side, who looks like he wants to be anywhere but here. "This is Carl Emerson, our project leader."
She paces around for a moment, then turns back to them, another uncomfortable smile plastered onto her face. She looks like Clarke and it's kind of unsettling. "Here at Griffin Inc. we make sure everyday to provide the best possible—"
"Where's Kane?" Bellamy echoes Clarke's earlier question, heated, because he isn't really interested in the semantics of a money-grabbing company when weird shit's been happening and his old professor is missing.
"And don't give us some bullshit excuse. I cross-matched his signatures with the document we found and it's a match. Kane wrote that note asking for help, but he wrote it 700 years ago," Raven cues in, looking severely unimpressed with the show she's putting on.
Abby huffs, almost humoured, smoothing down her hair before she straightens her doctor's coat. "Look, this is going to sound insane, and I'll try my best to answer all your questions, but he's in 1354."
"Abby," Emerson hisses, glaring over her, getting completely ignored.
His first reaction is to laugh, nervous, and then he just starts to feel the rage again. Everyone else has likewise reactions of disbelief, anger, shock, confusion, what the fuck. "What?"
She sighs, leaning back against the controlling panel, pressing a hand to her forehead. "In the midst of developing a ground-breaking machine that could save people's lives, Sinclair stumbled upon a, uh," she seems to be looking for the right word, and he fills in for her. "Dr. Griffin means we secured a wormhole locked onto a particular time and place. 1354, Sonchageda."
"Which means that everyone who uses the machine, is transported into the past. We've sent in employes before, trying to get us information on diseases we've we'd eradicated long ago to see if we could get additional information to combat modern day resistent bacteria," Abby continues, and the words sound like words, but they're not being registered as logical sentences in his head.
"You want to tell me you accidentally invented time travel?" Monty scoffs, looking like he's about to pass out.
"I don't care about the how's or why's, I care about Marcus," Bellamy presses, because he's letting bygones be bygones for now because if he thinks too hard about this entire ordeal right now, his head is going to explode.
"Kane, he insisted," Jackson speaks up, defensive, "He wanted to go in to see for himself."
"Going into the past, yep, that sounds like about every archaeologist's wet dream," Jasper quips up, but he sounds less like his usual self, more out of it than usual.
Emerson huffs, arms crossed over his chest, resentful almost. "That's the problem with you people, it's always passion over science, common sense. He probably got distracted by a building and was kidnapped because of it."
Bellamy opens his mouth to protest, but he decides against it. No matter how bad he hates it, he might need his help later.
"You think any of this is ethical, Abby? Sending people into the past without fully regarding the consequences, the effects on the present?" Wells interjects, brows knitted together.
"We were careful," she counters, a little too defensive and easy, like she isn't responsible for this. "We made sure never to bring any futuristic devices, to not ever make lasting contact with the people, to never—"
"This is such a fucking joke," Clarke laughs all of a sudden, but it doesn't sound very happy. "Please tell me this is a fucking joke."
Her mom doesn't say anything, just stares at her, swallowing tightly.
Clarke runs a hand through her hair, mind racing, as she spits, full of incredulity, "You sent people? To the past?"
"Clarke," her mother responds, voice softer, more careful. "You have to understand—"
"No," she dismisses her, turning away from her with her hands on her face and towards the device behind the glass wall, which prompts Bellamy to finally snap out of it. "So where is he?"
"He and his group never returned," Abby breaks it to him, opening her mouth to elaborate when he cuts her off, "Send me in."
"Excuse me?" She stammers, sending him a questioning look. Just like the rest of the group, who are looking at him like he's crazy, too. Maybe he is, all he knows is that Kane is inside that thing, or 1354, or whatever, probably in a lot of danger and he has to help him, has to at least try.
He's the only person who ever saw him for what he could become, not for his reputation, what'd he done to survive on one minimum wage paycheck with a teenager and a depressed mother.
"Send me to get him," he explains, narrowing his eyes because he thinks the only option in her mind is to let him die there. "How else are you planning on getting him back?
"That's not happening," Emerson barks immediately, scowling.
"Look to me like you don't need scientists, you need cultural experts," Wells reasons, glancing over at the rest to make sure he's not overstepping. "After professor Kane, Bellamy is the next best thing."
"You can't go in alone, it's too dangerous," Abby counters, shaking her head lightly, not very convincing. She knows this is their only option.
"I'll go, too," Jasper cuts in, quick, and Raven steps forward, raising a hand, "Kane offered me a roof above my head when I had nothing, the least I can do to try and save his ass is a little time travel."
Wells nods, once, then a few more times, like he's made up his mind. "Yeah. Kane is a good man. He would do the same for me. So, I'll come, too."
Bellamy almost lets out a sigh of relief at Wells' admission, because he's the only one of them who's fluent in Trigedasleng, since his father basically wrote the book on the old language, having discovered and described it in literature for over the last thirty years.
Clarke is slumped against the wall, crouched down with a hand in front of her mouth, deep in thought. He doesn't know what she's considering so heavily, but he'll make sure to ask before he jumps into that wormhole.
"Are you guys crazy?" Monty finally buts in, arms crossed over his chest and then not, pressing a hand to his forehead. "We not only don't know whether he's still alive or not," He shakes his head, wildly, "We also don't know what the consequences of this are, for this timeline, for the world, for—for us."
"I'm going, too," Clarke finally speaks up, raising back onto her feet.
"I don't think so," Abby counters immediately, firm, same stubbornness set on her face as on her daughter's.
"You don't get to make decisions for me any more," Clarke hisses, jaw set, blue eyes filled with anger.
"You're not going," she decides, resolute, frame tense. "And that's final."
"Is this what killed dad?" She snaps, eyes glazed over with tears. "The sudden death, the unexplained scar tissue, the mysterious way he died?" Her voice breaks a little as she steps closer to her mom, shaking her head lightly, "How could you look me straight in the eye and tell me that vague story about how he died when you knew—" she cuts herself short, voice breaking as she shakes her head like she doesn't want to hear the answer.
His hand finds the small of her back, rubbing softly, hoping to offer some comfort. She leans into him, wiping at a single tear that had rolled down her cheek with the back of her hand quickly. Abby glances over at them with a look he knows all too well, then turns her back to them. She leans her hands on the controlling panel, taking in a deep breath.
He finds Raven's gaze, who rolls her eyes, mouthing, "fucking white people, am I right?", arms crossed over her chest like she's actually bored. Time travel is a thing and Raven couldn't care less.
He holds in a laugh, widening his eyes at her to indicate he also feels like he ended up in a bad Lifetime version of Back to the Future.
Abby turns back to them, looking Clare straight in the eye. Her voice doesn't tremble, although she does look like she's about to have a stroke. "Fine."
"I'm staying," Monty presses, tilting his head slightly, eyes a little wild. "Nevermind the fact that I have no ambition whatsoever to travel time. I don't know if you guys realize this, but that machine's going to break you off into a—a stream of electrons. Stripping you down to a molecular level, for a moment, you—you cease to exist." He huffs, his face twisting and Bellamy had almost forgotten Monty is double-majoring in physics.
Bellamy moves his hand up to Clarke's shoulder, nodding at him in understanding. It's respectable, too, what he's deciding. And it might be good, to have one of their own on the other side.
"Also, I don't trust these three enough to leave your faith in their hands," he adds, eyes flickering with protectiveness, not caring they hear him talk shit about them. He relatives, half-shrugging, "Maybe Clarke's, since she's the CEO's daughter and all, but not the rest of you."
"And you really don't want to travel time," Jasper smirks, clapping him on the shoulder, just a little sad around the edges.
"And I really don't want to travel time," Monty chuckles, but it turns into a sour tight-lipped smile shortly.
"You all need to get dressed in the appropriate clothes and hand in any technological devices or modern day gadgets you have on you," Sinclair speaks up, clearing his throat lightly. It's probably a little awkward, in between two parties, but time's running out. The longer Kane is gone, the harder it will be the find him, the smaller the chance that he's still alive.
"That's going to take a while," Raven mutters, as she starts unloading her pockets onto the silver airport tray Jackson gets out for them, along with a pendant-shaped marker that they need to initiate their return.
"These men will be joining you." It's Abby, informing them once they've changed outfits, and she looks less than pleased, maybe even a little worried, avoiding everyone's eyes. "Shumway, my head of security, along with two of his men, former marines, Mbege and Connor."
Clarke doesn't look like she recognizes the three men, focusing her gaze back onto her mother, regarding her differently now than she did when they walked in. He knows she wants to say something, but, out of principle, won't. She looks up at him, nodding slightly to let him know she's okay.
"The most important thing you all need to know is that these trackers are set on a countdown of six hours—" Sinclair starts, looking less confident by the second.
"Six hours?" Wells blinks at him, before taking the tracker around his neck into his hand. Regarding it carefully.
"Yes," the engineer confirms, with a sigh as he rubs a hand over his chin, "Unfortunately, they burn out."
"Six hours? Why don't you ask us to fly to space in tin can next?" Raven growls, incredulous as everyone interrupts into questions and cries and yells, all through each other like a bunch of little children. Bellamy just observes the whole mess, shoulders tensing by the second, grinding his jaw so hard he thinks his teeth might break off soon.
"Six hours? Six? My birth took longer than—"
"—conclusion is: I. Don't. Want. To. Die! Not before the new Star Wars movie comes out anyway."
"Who gives us the right to even do this? We might make it worse, or change the entire course of history over this, or, or—"
"Stop being little crying bitch babies and just—"
"—on a molecular level, guys!"
"Children, children," Shumway laughs, like he's oh so amused. He's not allowed to call Kane's students children, okay. He doesn't even know them, hasn't even been through what he's been through with these annoying little shits. "Please compose yourself," he interjects, even though nobody asked, holding up a hand to shush them. There's a smug little smirk on his face, a know-it-all-look on his face. "There's nothing dangerous about this trip. As long as you all follow my lead, we'll be fine."
Everybody starts yelling again, about the pros and cons, debating whether Kane is even still alive or not, if this is even a poss—
"Guys, it's a short time frame, but we'll make it work," Bellamy tries to comfort them, offering them a confident nod. Shumway narrows his eyes into his general direction, but Bellamy could care less about an ego trip right now. "The way I see it, we have 700 years on knowledge on them."
He nods towards the platform, behind the glass, beyond the controlling panel, checking all their faces for any sliver of doubt. They mostly seem calm though, but it won't hurt to check, "Yeah?"
They walk over to the platform, climbing on top of it as sideways mirrors arise from the floor. They form a circle, a few deep sighs and some heavy breathing the only sounds for a minute.
Abby, who's been unusually quiet and absent from the conversation this entire time, shoots Clarke a longing look through the glass, but doesn't say anything to her. Instead, forces a polite smile on her face, pressing the button of the sound system. "Just try and think of this as the chance of a lifetime. You'll all be just fine." She sounds like she needs the confirmation herself.
"Back before lunch," Emerson adds, a hint of sarcasm to his voice, stupid little sneer on his face as he snatches the microphone away from Abby.
"Yeah, it's the ultimate field trip," Bellamy mutters bitterly under his breath, and Clarke slides her hand down his arm, entwining their fingers as she sends him a small comforting smile. She must've noticed the nervousness in his body language because she puts her other hand on his forearm, soothingly.
"Together?" she offers, with a questioning tilt of her head.
He nods, trying to find his voice. His throat feels dry all of a sudden. Then, finally, he squeezes her hand back, confirming, "Together."
"What the hell are we doing?" Wells wonders out loud, heavy, panting just a little as some sweat trails down the side of his face.
"They're locked in," Sinclair updates them, hand on some sort of lever, "Jackson, how are the magnetic foils?"
"They're up and functioning, Jacapo. Computer Systems are running. Mirrors closing in three, two…" The nurse informs him from behind his computer screen, holding up his fingers as he counts down. The mirrors turn so they're facing them, enclosing the entire platform.
"Here you go," Abby announces, and through the mirrors, he can see her holding in her breath, one hand pressed to her chest, right over her heart.
"Beam me up, Scotty," Jasper mumbles, just as the lever is pulled down. Instead of a surge of power, nothing happens. Which is kind of anticlimactic in every sense of the word.
"Something's not working, one moment please," Sinclair tells them over the speaker, pushing a few buttons, pulling the lever on his side down and back up.
Suddenly, the ground starts shaking and the device lights up, a humming sound blaring through the room. The humming gets more high pitched by the second, and all at once there's pain, a lot of pain, and before they know it, they're gone.
.
1354, Sonchageda
Bellamy opens his eyes to find himself gasping for air, but there's just white, some sort of liquid entering his mouth as he kicks around, not feeling any resistance, like he's in zero gravity. He doesn't hear anything, ears buzzing with loud, booming static.
Then, he feels a hand wrap around his arm and he can suddenly breathe again, realizing he's in a river and he should maybe try and swim. He doesn't even have to see it from the ground to know it's the same river as the river near Sonchageda.
Wells pulls him up with sheer arm strength onto a collection of boulders on the side of the riverbank, groaning as he falls back onto his back, Bellamy still halfway in the water. He has enough grip to hoist himself out of the water, looking for the others.
Jasper is wringing out his cloak near the trees, looking a little pale and flabbergasted, while Shumway and his guys are huddled together not to far away, apparently discussing tactics without them. When he turns back to the water, Clarke trying to climb on top of the slippy rocks, trying to heave herself out of the water, but being held back by the current and not being able to keep her grip.
Bellamy takes one hand quickly while Wells takes the other, pulling her out together. He tries to catch his breath, getting up to have more oversight, looking around frantically. "Where's Raven?"
Suddenly he sees a dark mob of hair stick out above the water, just long enough for her to catch another breath. The current is too strong for her to break away so he jumps back into the water without a second thought, helping her swim over to the boulders.
"Thanks," she pants, wiping off her face before laying down on her back to catch her breath for a second, drained.
"Talk about a different timezone," Jasper exclaims as they reach him after a moment, looking around him in wonder. Raven claps him on the shoulder excitedly, so much for not caring about history.
Wells looks over at the group of Shumway and his men, then back at his friends, vigilant. "If there's nothing dangerous about this trip, why do we need three marines?"
Clarke opens her mouth when suddenly she's pushed aside by a brown running blob of a person, yelling something indecipherable.
"It means 'run, they're here'," Wells exclaims, already starting to run after the blob on blind faith as a group of Mountain Men appears from behind the trees.
An arrow fires straight into Connor, inspiring the rest into running after Wells, too. At least the blob wasn't firing weapons at them, so blind faith sounds good right about now.
A horse enters from their left, separating the group. Wells, Raven and Jasper are running up ahead, Bellamy and Clarke have to separate to the right while Shumway and Mbege stay behind to do God knows what.
Clarke pulls him down a small hill, almost sliding down it because it's steeper than they anticipated, as they hide behind a thick tree lodge, pressing her back against it, chest heaving up and down, fast. He squeezes her hand
"Guys, get down, they're going to see you," Jasper whisper-shouts from their right, gesturing with his arm for them to duck, about thirty feet away from them.
Bellamy turns to look where he's looking, making direct eye-contact with a soldier, one of three. "Fuck," he mutters, and just as he's about to make a run for it again, Jasper jumps up and runs towards the Mountain Men, screaming.
He jumps around, trying to catch their attention before taking off into the opposite direction. "You! Hey! Yeah, you on the dumb horse. Over here!"
"He's crazy," Clarke whispers, letting out a low nervous laugh and Bellamy shakes his head, pulse still in the hundreds, making him flashback to that semester in college he fully considered becoming a police officer. "Come on, we should find the others."
He squats down, moving past the lodge quietly, checking for more soldiers before running over to a dense spot of trees. Signaling for Clarke to follow him, she rushes over to him, just as more soldiers appear. He pulls her into his arms, back towards his chest, putting a finger in front of his mouth. He cranes his neck, just a little, just enough to see Shumway and Mbege being approached by a group of soldiers, fast.
One of them drives his sword through Mbege at full speed, his hand reaching for his tracker, his other hand cramped around an unfamiliar object.
"Well done, Murrough," one of the soldiers tells the Mountain Men with the bloody sword, before Mbege's body disappears. They don't have time to ponder it for long, because Shumway starts to spurt away from, soldiers following him and giving Bellamy a moment to get his heart rate back to normal.
.
2018, Griffin Inc.
"Somebody's trying to come back," Jackson yells, scrolling down on his tablet, some urgency to his voice, and Monty checks the clock. It's been ten minutes, that seems too good to be true.
"Closing mirrors," Sinclair urges, pressing some buttons and pulling down the lever, a bright white light forming inside the mirrors.
Abby presses a hand to her shoulder, rubbing it nervously. That slimy sleazeball Emerson leans forward, his hands on the panel, regarding the platform with some discontentment. What is his deal?
Monty holds his breath, watching the surge of power inside of the machine before the panels open back up and—it's just Mbege, bleeding, bleeding all over the floor.
"Abby, he needs a medic!" Jackson calls, making his way over there, as the former marine sinks down on his knees, dropping something from his hand as it rolls down the platform and into their direction.
Monty's eyes widen as he starts walking backwards, pulling people down with him, "GRENADE!", just as it detonates.
There's an ear deafening sound, of glass breaking and like part of the building is being ripped apart. When he gets back up, carefully peaking at the teleportation device—there's not much left, shattering every bit of positivism he had. He scrambles to his feet, pressing a hand to his forehead in disbelief. "What the hell just happened?"
"He knew he was not supposed to take anything modern," Emerson spits, kicking against one of the computers. "That son of a bitch took a grenade with him!"
"You need to fix this," Monty directs at him, shaking slightly, still hearing a high-pitched tone in his ears. "You need to fix this, right now. You can't leave eight people behind."
"Somebody please escort him out here," Emerson spits into his general direction, running a hand over his head, but Monty is not that easy to get rid off. Not when his friends' lives are on the line. "Tell me you have a backup plan. You have to have a backup plan."
"Sinclair," Abby suddenly cries out, rushing over to him. There's a big piece of shrapnel protruding his chest, and his eyes are open but he's not, he's not there and—he feels like he's going to throw up. He walks over to the trashcan, leaning down over it, before emptying the contents of his stomach inside it.
"Monty," Abby pulls on his sleeve, and he realizes he's been staring at the shattered machine for a little too long now, she penetrates his gaze with a glazed over eyes. "Monty. We need your help, to fix this. We can't—we can't leave them there. I need my daughter back."
"Are you insane? Your only engineer just died and you want me, me—to help you fix this when I know nothing about the schematics or tech behind this," he swallows, visibly, ranting more for his own sake than anyone else's, "and even if I did, the fact that you got this to work was probably a coincidence!"
He takes a deep breath, trying to calm himself down so he can think clearly. "Did—did anyone try and come back with him? Is anyone trying to come back, right now?"
"We don't know," Jackson sighs, defeated, scrolling a finger down over his tablet. "The lines are online, but the coils—they're ruined. The mirror panels are shattered."
"What," Monty bites, eyes flickering with disbelief, "you're saying is that it's a lost cause?"
"Nothing is ever a lost cause," Abby decides, voice strong and confident. "We have five hours and 27 minutes. We'll make it work."
/.\