Ooook so I obviously needed to write something after the finale so yeah… here it is. I hope you like it.

The Promise

Abby wakes up with a gasp. She's already sitting, already reaching for an invisible noose around her neck when she opens her eyes. It takes long minutes for her breathing to even out, for the terrible images of what her own hands have inflicted to people she loves to recede. Next to her, under the pile of furs, Clarke is still asleep, her body recovering from the ordeal.

The Commander's room is dark. Everything is quiet, the night not yet at an end.

She brings her shaky hands to her face and swallows back the tears. It's too dark for her to glimpse the marks on her daughter's chest, the marks she inflicted. It's too dark for her to chase away the dread and anxiety curling in her stomach. Memories are swirling in her head, always, always coming back to a cross and the man nailed on it.

Her hands fall on her lap. She's shivering, either in shock or exhaustion it's hard to say. She helped as much as she could before finally giving up and collapsing in bed next to her daughter. She mended and bandaged and disinfected until her hands cramped and her head spun, until Bellamy caught her when she stumbled and herded her to where Clarke was resting.

So much happened in so little time her head is still spinning. Six months to live. The words are insidious and terrifying yet distant. A problem for another day. Right now, all she can think about is pain. The pain she inflicted. The pain she is in.

Clarke doesn't stir when she gets out of bed and for a terrible moment Abby is afraid of what her stillness means. But when she brushes her dirty hair back, her daughter lets out a sigh and turns on her side. She closes her eyes in relief, presses a kiss on her forehead and she goes in search.

Nothing feels real.

She doesn't know if it's a consequence of being in the City of Light for so long. It was peaceful there, safe in ways she never knew before. There was no cold, no danger and no reasons to be afraid.

Abby realizes after three corridors that she forgot her boots and her feet are freezing on the bare concrete. There are rubbles everywhere and she has to be careful where she walks. Yet she welcomes the discomfort. It is a reminder. A reminder she is not in the City of Light.

The Commander tower is a maze and Abby is lost. She wanders at random, walking as if in a dream. There is a mist inside her chest, something that feels like detachment but is more an overload of feelings.

It isn't long before she stumbles upon two Grounders. Guards, she thinks. Although what they are guarding is puzzling. She isn't even sure where they stand in the Coalition, if they are still the thirteenth clan or not. Marcus has been handling the Grounders while she organized a triage. She doesn't know what has been said and done. She doesn't know if they're guests or prisoners. She just knows her daughter is sleeping in the Commander's rooms and it must mean something, anything.

She must not look very threatening standing there barefoot and unarmed because one of the Grounders barely puts his hand on the hilt of his sword and the other simply looks away. "Chit yu gaf in?"

She blinks. Her Trigedasleng is bad on a good day and it is not a good day.

"Ai laik Abby kom Skaikru." she answers, the familiar words rolling off her tongue with ease. It might be the only thing she can be sure of getting right.

"Osi get in chon yu laik." the man frowns. "Chit yu gaf in?"

"Em lufa au emon heda."a familiar voice answers. Abby watches Indra walking out of the shadows with her usual confidence, downplaying a limp. Her eyes shot to the bandage around her wrists and the obvious marks of abuse on her body but she doesn't say anything. Indra has been busy organizing Polis ever since Octavia has taken her down from the cross they nailed her on. The Grounder's dark gaze is almost appraising when it turns to Abby. "They know who you are. They want to know what you seek. I told them you were seeking your commander."

"I know where Clarke is." she says and her voice sounds hollow to her own ears.

"Klark kom Skaikru is not Skaikru's heda." Indra retorts with just the right amount of reproach that Abby feels she should feel guilty for not knowing that.

Pike is dead. Technically speaking, the Chancellor title should fall back on her but she is not about to fight anyone for it at the moment.

"Where is he?" she asks instead because deep down she knows who the Grounders consider to be their leader and she has no objections to it. She is in no state to have objections. She just wants to collapse. She wants to curl up and cry and collapse like she didn't have time to properly do yet. But she needs to know he is alright first. She needs to know her nightmare is just a nightmare and he is alright. Not nailed to a cross any longer, not hurt but alive and breathing.

"Follow me." Indra orders more than she offers. They leave the guards behind and wanders down ladders to another floor, to other twisting corridors and more cold stone under her feet. Eventually they stop in front of a set of doors. "This floor is meant for clans' leaders. He was about to pass out. I put him in there."

"Thank you." Abby whispers.

She walks closer to the door, places her hand on the handle and finds she's unable to turn it.

They haven't talked. She held him when he woke up, she tried to comfort him, she offered all the reassurances she could. But they haven't talked. There has been no time. Not with Clarke's frightening revelation and the more pressing emergency of organizing Polis, to see to the wounded and establish some sort of order…

She hasn't even said she's sorry yet.

Memories flash in her mind and she closes her eyes, her jaw clenched to stop the sobs that want to wreck her. She slowly leans her forehead against the wood and she knows she will never find the courage to go inside.

"Kane is strong." Indra states. Abby startles a little, having thought the woman had left. The Grounder isn't done though. "Strong leaders generally choose strong niron."

She presses her forehead harder against the door. "I don't know that word."

"Lovers." Indra supplies and Abby wants to laugh. How to explain they haven't gone that far yet? That she isn't sure that's even on the table anymore? Marcus hates himself for what he's done under Alie's influence, just like she does. The difference is, everything he did is on her. Because he took the chip for her.

"Hodnes laik kwelnes." Abby recites tiredly. Love is weakness, she overheard it enough times in a Grounder camp. "Isn't that what you say?"

"Not for you sky people." the woman shrugs. "You do everything differently."

She shuts her eyelids harder but tears escape all the same. "I don't deserve his forgiveness."

"Kane is a generous man. Forgiveness will be granted whether or not you deserve it." Indra counters. "He deserves your strength. Skaikru needs a strong leader if the coalition has any chance to hold, a leader we can respect. Help him be that. That is how you earn forgiveness, not from him but from yourself. Ge smak daun, gyon op nodotaim. You are a strong heda too, Abby kom Skaikru. Do not forget that."

Indra's footsteps recede down the corridor and Abby is left alone, leaning against a door she is afraid to open. All she can think about at the moment is the Pandora myth.

Some doors are better left closed.

And yet she pushes the handle down and she slips inside the room. It is dark in here too. It isn't as big as the Commander's rooms but she can see why those rooms are usually used for a clan's leader. They're spacious and there is a big window overlooking Polis – she thinks it must have been a beautiful sight before, now all there is to see are pools of blood in the streets and the looming shapes of crosses in the distance.

It's only once she's taken a couple of steps inside that she spots Marcus. He's lying on the bed, over the furs, his only concession to comfort are the boots he took off.

She steps closer, wary. Someone bandaged his hands. She will want to take a look later, to make sure it was properly done, but for now… She needs to be sure. His chest rises and falls and it should be enough confirmation that her nightmares were just that but she reaches out anyway. Her hand hovers over him, badly shaking, and the sob finally breaks free from her throat.

She can imagine the shapes of the bruises marring his chest and the rest of him. It takes all she has to find the strength to lower her hand, to trust he won't start screaming in pain at her touch. His heart pound under her palm and she closes her eyes and lets out a shallow breath. The sobs are too strong for her to swallow back and her shoulders shudder as she tries to keep them quiet.

Then her hand is covered by warm skin and scratchy fabric and her eyes fly open.

There are a thousand emotions on his face and it breaks her.

It breaks her.

For the second time that day, she feels like a puppet whose strings were cut. Her legs give in. Everything give in. She doesn't fall because he catches her, groaning in pain. She is still causing him pain and it only makes her cry harder, even when he hauls her on the bed with him and draws her against him. He lies them down so they're both on their sides, facing each other and he wraps himself around her. She tucks her head under his chin, buries her face in his shirt – it smells like blood, sweat, dirt and gunpowder and she hates it because to her the smell talks of torture – gripping his jacket in her clenched fist. He hooks his leg over hers in an attempt at holding her closer and she goes willingly, trying to melt against him.

Their legs are tangled, one of his hands is in her hair, clumsily combing the badly knotted strands, his other one is clinging to the back of her jacket.

She cries until there are no tears left in her. She cries until her body heaves and she thinks she's going to be sick. She cries until she is ready to drop dead out of sheer exhaustion.

She's vaguely aware of the small kisses he presses on the top of her head and of the hand that runs up and down her back.

"I shouldn't have left you behind."

It's the first words they really exchange since it's all over and it's so ridiculous she almost starts laughing. Of course, he would blame himself. Of course.

"I regretted it as soon as we were out of Arkadia." he continues, his voice rough and pained. "I should have…"

"One of us had to stay." she cuts him off tiredly. To show their people the day out of the dark… That certainly went well. She doesn't know how many they lost. The casualties are too numerous for them to have a precise number yet. She closes her eyes and clings to him a little harder. "We should have taken Jaha more seriously. We were so focused on Pike…"

"Pike was the priority at the time." he replies. "We thought he was the real danger."

"The real danger was already inside." she counters. "I should have seen… I should have known…" He draws out a long sigh and presses his lips against her head again. It's so soft she wants to cry again. She doesn't deserve his softness. "I don't know how you can bear to touch me…"

And yet she buries her face deeper in his shoulder, scared he will change his mind and push her away, scared he won't. She doesn't know. She's tired right down to her bones, overwhelmed by all those feelings the City of Light curbed for a while.

"How can you?" he scoffs. "We all did things… We all did terrible things, Abby. If we start casting blame…"

"I hurt you." she protests. "I used you. I stood by while they…"

"I hurt people too." he cuts her off.

"I hurt you." she growls because he doesn't get it. "I hurt Clarke."

"I nailed Indra to a cross." he shrugs. "I almost strangled Bellamy. I would have killed anyone to stop Clarke and that included you too. I would have killed you. I would have…" His voice breaks and he buries his face in her hair. "We can't… We can't start casting blame, Abby. We can't. It wasn't you. It wasn't me. It's over. We move on."

"But it's my fault." she insists. "You took the chip to protect me. You took it because…"

"Why did you?" he interrupts her again. "What happened in Arkadia? How did we get to this?"

Her jaw clenches at the memory. Clarke's assurances that Raven is alright haven't done much to appease her.

"Raven." she explains. "Alie forced her to cut her wrists open. Jaha… He wouldn't let me go until I took the key. I knew… I knew it was a mistake. I knew. But I couldn't let her die. I had to save her."

"Like I had to save you." he whispers. "See, it's not so different."

"You didn't convince everyone in camp to take the key." she counters. "Our people trusted me and I led them to their death."

"It wasn't you." he says again.

"Clarke said that too." she remarks. "She refuses to blame me."

"That's because your daughter is a wise girl." he offers. "Like her mother." He draws back a little to look at her, brushing back the hair that clings to her wet cheeks. She must look a mess, she thinks, but he doesn't seem to mind. His fingers trail down her cheek to her throat and his eyes darken when they brush against the bruising the rope left behind. "Are you in pain?"

It's hard to say. She has been cut off from pain for days. The slightest thing feels like an inconvenience now. Thirst, hunger, fear, sadness, physical discomfort… It's overwhelming.

"Are you?" she asks right back with a small frown. "Did you even get checked out?"

"There people worse off than me." he shrugs.

She untangles herself from him and sits up, wiping her cheeks and eyes. "Strip up."

For a second, his eyes sparkle with amusement and she's sure he's going to make a joke but then he's lifting his upper body just long enough take his jacket and his shirt off and he lies back down. She sucks in a shaky breath at the sight of his chest but quickly shuts all her feelings down. It's Doctor Griffin who reaches for him and not Abby. It can't be Abby. Because Abby wants to hug and never let go.

She probes the bruising on his ribs, making sure nothing is broken. She winces when he winces but at far as she can tell there are no broken bones. The cuts and scrapes will need to be cleaned but they don't look infected so she lets it rest for now. She keeps waiting for him to flinch away from her touch but he doesn't and she breathes a little easier once she is certain he isn't too badly injured. Eventually there is nothing left for her to check but the hands and wrists. She cradles the right one in hers, lacking the courage to unwrap the bandage.

"Jackson did that." he says. "You don't have to look."

"Yes, I do." she answers. Otherwise it will become a breach between us, she doesn't say, something I will never be able to confront or face.

The wound is clean and neatly stitched, almost not impressive enough for what happened. She brings it to her lips and presses a reverent kiss over it. She wishes it would be enough to erase it. She wishes she could carry it for him. She wishes…

He moves his hand as if to cup her cheek but she stops him and replaces the bandage on. She's dirty. They don't need to dirty the wound. She repeats the process with his other hand. The wound is less neat on that one but Jackson did a good job at stitching it up. She kisses it too before wrapping the gauze back around it.

He doesn't try to sit up but he reaches for her throat again, lightly retracing the dark mark circling around it.

"I'm fine." she promises.

"How close was it?" he asks. She licks her lips and looks down at her lap. It's enough of an answer, she thinks, because he tugs on her arm a little. "Come here."

She lies back down next to him, her hand on his chest, ghosting over firm muscles and dark bruises. Touching. She needs to touch. She needs to feel him.

He rolls on his side again, brushing her hair back once more, watching her for a moment before slowly coming to rest his forehead against hers.

"Six months." he breathes out, jumping back to a conversation they haven't yet had. Not the two of them anyway. Clarke and Bellamy already started talking about it, already started discussing it, planning… She doesn't quite know where Clarke and Bellamy fit in the hierarchical order of things. She just knows when it comes down to the people from the Ark, she and Marcus would always be the one having to vouch for her daughter's plans, to lead – the adult part of the population at least.

"That's what Clarke said." she confirms and she feels that new threat creeping under her skin. How do you fight radiation?

Six months is so little time…

His nose bumps against hers and she instinctively angles her head the right way, humming in pleasure when his lips brush against hers. Her mind briefly flashes to the last time it happened, to the way he gave in to the kiss before pushing her away but his mouth his warm and insistent and it is enough to chase the memory away.

She responds to the kiss eagerly, with something akin to despair, and she doesn't fight him when he clumsily push her jacket off her shoulders. She doesn't know if it's about what they've just been through or about what's ahead of them but she does know time is precious, now more than ever.

His hands aren't as deft as they can be and she slips her shirt off herself before leaning in to kiss him again. The kiss turns hungry when his palm runs up her side. The bandage is rough against her skin but his fingertips are warm and she doesn't know how he manages to unclasp her bra but it's soon off and his mouth travels down, stopping on her throat.

He kisses the bruises with caution before continuing on his way down. His mouth plants itself on the flat plane between her breasts before moving to the right, exploring, learning.

Abby craves this like she hardly ever craved anything else.

She's the one who deals with buttons and zippers and gets the rest of their clothes off because she's scared he will hurt himself. He hardly ever stops kissing her all the while, his mouth stays on her body at all time, be it on her lips, on her shoulder, on her breast or on stomach…

It's not really how she imagined their first time.

They're careful with other, mindful of each other's injuries, but it's so perfect at the same time Abby almost wants to cry. She's a mess, she knows, her feelings are all over the place.

It's not the best sex she ever had and she's sure he had better too. They're tired and dirty and hurt and even though it's good it's not earth shattering. She doesn't mind and he doesn't either. This isn't about sex, this is making love in its purest form. This is about showing each other how they feel, this is about trust and healing. There will be time later for dirtier things, right now this is sweet, his thrusts are slow and deep and her toes curl when bliss overtakes her.

It's then, that she finally feels like she's waking up from this nightmare. There with Marcus moaning her name in her neck as he comes, holding her tight and safe.

They remain curl up together, only slipping under the furs when it becomes too chilly for their naked bodies. Her back is against his chest, his arm is around her, his forearm between her breasts, his leg trapped between hers.

She can finally breathe.

"If we only have six months left…" he whispers against her nape.

"We will find a solution." she tells him and she believes it. She knows it in her heart just like she knew Clarke was alive on Earth when she was still trapped on the Ark. She hopes. And hopes is everything.

"I know." he says and there is no hesitation in his voice. It's a testament to how far he's come, she thinks, because once Marcus would have already been running contingent scenarios in his mind. "But if we only have six months left… We can't lose a minute, Abby. What happened… We can't let it spoil whatever time we have left. I want this. You and me. I want it. And I don't want to waste time."

"I want it too." she confesses, coiling her fingers around his elbow. "I want everything with you."

It's scary how true her words are and how unafraid of them she is.

She feels his lips against her nape where Clarke cut to take the chip out.

"Together." he vows.

"Together." she repeats.

And it sounds like a promise.