I hadn't written anything for that episode yet (4X01) and… Well. Smut happened. Thanks to Akachankami for the beta!
Echoes
"Your room, ambassador."
Echo spits the words, the poisonous venom so thick in her voice that Marcus takes a step in front of Abby without thinking twice about it. The young woman doesn't like them and she might have forged a bond with Bellamy somehow but it definitely doesn't extend to him or Abby. Maybe she's angry to have been demoted from War Chief to glorified baby-sitter or maybe it is just the fact that her advices to have them killed went ignored…
Marcus isn't sure.
And he doesn't quite care.
In time, he would have to try and change her mind but that could wait.
"Chancellor." Abby corrects, easily stepping aside to stand next to him. Her voice is soft and hard at the same time, in that particular way of hers he has always marveled at. She stares straight at the blond warrior without flinching. "Not ambassador."
They haven't really discussed the Chancellor issue yet although he supposes there isn't a lot more to talk about. Abby doesn't want the job – or rather would prefer for him to have it – and there is no way they are tempting fate by bringing Jaha into this. Pike is dead, power falls back on the Council… They don't have a Council anymore… He is a little confused about what the Charter would have to say about that but he figures the lines are blurry enough that they can call it and not being challenged.
Not that any of that really matters anymore.
Except it does, doesn't it? Because their people still need someone to guide them.
"He bears the mark of the Thirteenth Clan." Echo states, her eyes shifting to his arm. The burn scar is covered by his sleeve but his other hand presses on it, unconsciously confirming her claim.
"Ambassador is fine in Polis." he says, to cut the conversation short. He doesn't particularly want to debate on titles and honorifics, first because he doesn't really care and, second, because he really wants some peace and quiet.
"Chancellor." Echo repeats carefully anyway, ignoring him. "Is that your word for commander?"
"In a way." Abby offers tersely.
"But Wanheda is in charge now." the warrior retorts with a small disapproving frown. "What sort of commanders leave their second in charge to be ambassadors?"
The sort who knows he won't be commander long, Marcus thinks.
"The good ones." Abby replies, defensive.
It seems to amuse Echo more than it convinces her. She turns to Marcus, face set in stone, her gaze evaluating. "Yu don badan kru."
You have loyal people.
"Em praiz yu?" he asks. Does that surprise you?
He supposes Azgeda isn't that used to showing loyalty to their authority figures. It is a large clan, possibly the largest, and everyone can't be happy with their monarchs. He knows Echo was loyal to her queen, maybe less to her king, but he thinks it's the exception rather than the rule.
And, as if to confirm that impression, she dismisses the question by waving an impatient hand in Abby's direction. "I will take you to your room."
"Thank you but we don't need two rooms." she answers.
Marcus' head turns so fast he feels something snap in his neck, not certain he heard her right. In the split second it takes him to find her gaze, he thinks maybe she wants to stay with him in case things go south – and he can't fault her for that – but any thought of possible escape plans and damage control flies out the window when he meets her eyes.
This has nothing to do with things possibly going south with the Grounders.
There's no question on her face. She's not asking him, she's telling him.
"I see." Echo says and he thinks they revealed more than maybe is wise. "We provided clothes for you to borrow until the servants can wash yours. If you need anything, King Roan wants you to feel free to ask."
He breathes a little easier when the girl finally leaves the room although the moment the doors are shut behind her he feels trapped. He turns toward Abby who has picked up something from the table in what he figures to be the living-room part of the room. It takes him a few minutes to realize it's a leather bound notebook full of sketches.
He's pretty sure this was Clarke's room before it was theirs. The room Lexa intended for Skaikru's ambassador.
Abby looks tired, worried and vulnerable.
"She will be alright." he offers and, when she looks up at him, he nods to the notebook in her hands. "She's your daughter, Abby. Through and through."
He intends it as a compliment but the smile that graces her lips is wistful. "That's what worries me. I always thought she had taken after Jake but…" She stops and shrugs, her hand absentmindedly coiling around the ring she carries on a chain. His eyes follow the move and there is suddenly an odd tension in the room, as if they just summoned a ghost. She clears her throat and lets go of the ring to study him. "How are you? And don't say fine."
If he has to list everything that hurts, he thinks they will still be standing there the next morning. He steps closer to her instead and, when he is within reach, he brushes the tips of his fingers against the bruises around her neck.
He doesn't need to ask what happened. He knows what happened. If anyone knew something in the COL, everyone knew. He knows what ALIE made her do, what Clarke didn't sacrifice.
Maybe that's in part why he put her in charge while he decided to stay behind, because leadership is paved with sacrifices he doesn't want, can't, make anymore. He feels guilty about leaving that weight with her but he knows Bellamy will be there to ground her, just like Abby used to do for him.
She closes her eyes and tilts her head to the side as his touch become a bit firmer. He's probing more than he's touching now, making sure she's fine.
"I would do it again." he whispers quietly. He knows where her mind is gone. He doesn't need a key or ALIE to know her thoughts. She's blaming herself and he can't let her go there because, if they go there, they will never climb out. "I don't regret it."
She searches his eyes for a moment and smiles, tension leaving her shoulders. She cups his cheek and pulls him down a little… He meets her lips without a moment of hesitation. When she deepens the kiss, his mind flashes back to his arrival in Polis, to that room and the things ALIE asked her to do to convince him, to seduce him… It makes him mad that the AI manipulated them that way, exploited something that is still so new and fragile… So precious to him…
"Marcus?" she asks against his mouth, uncertain.
He kisses her harder in reassurance, forgetting all about restrain or any half-cooked thought of maybe taking it slow. All that's left is the adrenaline backlash of a near-death experience. His and hers alike.
Her fingers find his hair, tangle in it to better take control of the kiss… He gives her that much, slipping one of his hands under her shirt, the other one moving from the small of her back to…
The bandage catches on her belt and he breaks the kiss with a hiss. Cradling his wrist in his other hand is instinctive, his jaw clenches as he waits for the pain to pass but it won't go away. He has been ignoring it for hours and now it's back with a vengeance.
"Let me see." she orders. There is no room for argument and no hope of distracting her now, she has her doctor stance. She ushers him toward the couch and fetches her medical bag. At the face she makes when she opens it, he knows they're not as well stocked as she would have liked. She shots him an amused look while she washes her hands in a bronze bowl by the bed. "I hope you didn't tear my stitches."
The bed they will have to share unless he offers to be a gentleman and take the couch.
He doesn't let himself think about the bed yet.
He's pretty sure he wouldn't fit on the couch anyway.
"I tried my best not to, does that count for something?" He flashes her a sheepish smile.
He knows that he popped out at least one of them but he doesn't offer the information. The emergency stitches she put before they left the tower were done in a hurry, not her finest work but good enough to hold.
He lets her unwrap the bandages on his right hand, automatically flexing his fingers once it comes loose.
"Was it too tight?" she frowns, her fingers ghosting over the marks the gauze left on his skin. They shy away from the angry red wound and the black threads crisscrossing over it. "I don't like the look of this one." She finds an antiseptic balm in the bag and starts smearing it over his inner wrist. It smells strongly of wild herbs and it reminds him of the meadow not too far from Arkadia. At his questioning look, she smiles a little. "It's one of Nyko's remedies." Her fingers linger even after there is no more balm to apply. "Marcus…"
"It wasn't your fault." he promises.
"We focus on what comes next?" she asks, maybe a bit bitterly. There's always something coming next and no time to come to terms with what is happening around them. It sometimes feels like it's been that way since Jake's death.
"We have to." he reminds her, brushing her hair back with his free hand. She takes a deep breath and nods once. She grabs more bandages, compresses, and medical tape and proceeds to wrap half his arm in them. "Do you think there's enough?" he jokes at some point.
He gets an aggravated look in answer.
"I know you." she simply states.
And maybe he doesn't have the best track record with not undoing her handiwork.
He's about to call her out on it – because he's seen her refuse Jackson's help earlier – when there's a knock on the door. They exchange a look, suddenly tense.
"Come in." he calls. Nothing happens and, after a second, he corrects himself. "Minop."
The door is opened a crack and in slips a skittish young girl who gives a small bow.
"Yu sad op washin sok, bandrona?" she asks.
The words aren't entirely familiar, aside for the ambassador one, and it takes him a moment to realize what she's asking him.
"Do you want a bath?" he defers to Abby. Her whole face lights up at the prospect and he doesn't even need a vocal answer. He can't help but chuckle a little at her eagerness, although he supposes it would be good to get rid of all that grime. "Sha. Chof."
The girl bows again and disappears, leaving the door open. She comes back before Abby is done wrapping his wrist up though, followed by more servants carrying buckets of hot water. He watches them while she takes care of his left hand, making sure to look suitably chastised when she lectures him about the stitch he has indeed popped out at some point today. He's not a fan of needles so it gives him as good an excuse as any not to look as she redoes everything.
It's only when the servants start lighting candles that he realizes the sun is setting. It's later than he thought. He wonders if the kids made it back to Arkadia already or if they're camping somewhere. He hopes they're alright.
The girl from earlier keeps throwing them curious looks. She's young but there's no doubt she's in charge. She commands the others, instructing them to place candles here and there, to make sure they have everything they would need…
Abby is starting to wrap his wrist in an impressive bandage when the girl wanders closer, her head bowed in deference. "Beda ai lid in dina, bandrona?"
Should I bring in dinner, ambassador?
His stomach rumbles in answer. He can't remember the last time he ate and he's pretty sure the same goes for Abby. Food hasn't been one of ALIE's priorities.
"Sha. Mochof." he accepts with a smile.
"Chit ste yu… tagon?" Abby asks before the girl can scurry away again.
Her Trigedasleng is still hesitant but Marcus can't help but smile with pride. She's having a difficult time learning and usually sticks to simple sentences. Like asking someone their name.
"Dalys, Skaiheda." the servant offers.
"I'm not…" Abby frowns and then winces as she struggles to piece off a sentence. "Ai laik nou Skaiheda noumou." I'm not Skaikru's leader anymore. She glances at him and he confirms she got it right with a nod so she soldiers on. "Ai laik fisa." I am a healer. She makes a face and shakes her head. "Can you ask her if I can take a look at her hand?"
He blinks, surprised by the request, before realizing that the girl has been keeping her right hand closed in a fist. He translates and Dalys offers her hand with obvious reluctance, probably only complying because he asked her too.
There isn't a soul in Polis that haven't suffered because of the COL. The burn on the girl's hand looks bad but not as bad as other things he saw in the streets earlier. He leaves Abby to treat it, wandering around the room. The servants are done with the candles and the bath but the water is smoking and there's no putting a toe in there without ending up boiled.
He gravitates back to the couch and the table when the food has been brought. It's nothing outlandish, cold meat and some fruits… It looks so tempting to him but he forces himself to wait until Abby is done and sends the servant girl on her way before filling two plates. They start eating well before the door swings shut once more and they're left alone.
They're both too starved to talk. They swallow down the food as if they haven't been used to being on ration all their lives and he really can't remember the last time he ate. Before Polis? Before capturing Pike? Before…
It's a little embarrassing how clean the plates are when they finally put them down.
They share a small awkward smile and Abby stands up to go check the still steaming tub. He can't really see her from the couch, the 'bathroom' area is tucked away in a corner near the bed. His fingers drum on the armrest and he wonders if she will take it personally if he takes a nap while she washes up because…
His train of thoughts die when she comes back in his line of sight, jacket and shirt gone. She's only wearing a black tank top over her pants now and not only it doesn't cover much but it is very obvious she has no bra underneath. She found a hairbrush somewhere and she's trying to untangle her hair.
"Are you staying over there?" she asks, her lips quirked up. It's almost a challenge and he has never been good at ignoring her challenges.
He doesn't quite know what they're doing. If they're going there tonight, if it's clever, if it's too soon… Those are all valid questions he should be asking, they have only kissed twice after all if they don't count the ALIE act. He simply follows her lead instead. Like most of the time.
He pushes himself to his feet, something that is more difficult than it ought to be because he feels like he has just climbed up a giant tower with his bare hands – and oh wait… – and joins her in the other part of the room. The mood is entirely different here, it's cozier. The candles make it… intimate. And the steam rising from the tub…
He swallows hard. He should be too tired to entertain any wicked thoughts but the thoughts are here all the same. They can't not be here when she's toeing off her boots and unbuckling her belt as if it's something they do every day – and he finds he desperately wants them to do that every day.
He watches her pants flop around her ankles in a daze. He watches her foot step out of them and kicking them to the side where, he realizes, her jacket and shirt lay in a heap. And then he watches her foot come closer to him. Only then does he let his eyes roam up her shins, up her thighs… They stop briefly on the simple black cotton panties she has on and up they go again, lingering on the stretch of skin between the band of her underwear and the hem of her tank top… He studies the shape of her belly button as if it holds the answers to all the questions in the universe… His gaze has made it all the way to the nipples visibly peaking under the fabric when she pushes his jacket off his shoulders.
She's gentle when she slips it off his forearms and he looks up, seized with anger and dread when he spots just how bad the bruising around her throat looks like. He leans in when she tosses his jacket with the rest of her clothes, brushing a soft kiss against the abused skin, careful not to put too much pressure on it. Her hand immediately shoots to cradle the back of his head and he doesn't know what arouses him more: the quiet sound his beard makes as it rasps against her flesh or her small gasp that can't be mistaken for anything but pleasure.
He lets his mouth trail down the curve of her neck to her shoulder.
His shirt is bundled in her fist halfway to his side and he returns the favor by pushing hers up her back. He feels the scars under his palms and it makes him falter briefly. He lets out a slow breath against his skin, unable to accept what would have happened if…
"What comes next." she reminds him and he nods slowly. He knows. He knows but… "What comes next shouldn't be so terrible…" she jokes and he chuckles.
Just like that, the bad memories fade and he gets back to exploring her skin with his mouth, his hand spread flat between her shoulder blades. It makes her shirt inch up and he's fascinated with the amount of flesh it reveals. He entertains the thought of dropping to his knees, of nuzzling her stomach, of trying and venturing where the shirt is temptingly bundled under her breasts…
She forces his shirt off before he can act on it and, suddenly, she's right there, in his space, hands and mouth roaming on his chest. He wraps his arms around her, hugging her close. Her caresses become less purposeful and she rests her cheek against his shoulder, her palm still running up and down his arm slowly.
It's like the eye of the storm.
He's pretty sure she can feel him against her stomach. It's half the reason why he calmed things down, because he wants her to be sure, to be…
She drops a kiss on his skin and sneaks her hands between them. He doesn't know if it's the adrenaline but the sound of his belt being unbuckled seems unnaturally loud. She pops the button open and the zipper down and nudges his trousers down before planting a kiss on his lips and walking away.
It's cold without her body pressed close to his and he doesn't like it.
He wants to ask what's in her mind but the question dies on his tongue when she passes her tank top over her head and flicks it in the vague direction of the heap of dirty clothes. He can only watch. He can only watch as the panties follow the same path. He can only watch as she carefully places the chain with her ring on the table by the bed and as she reaches for the cloth in the washing basin. He can only watch as she runs it over her neck and down her arms, scraping at the dried blood, the soot and the grime.
The bathtub is still steaming but it should have been alright to step in now.
He doesn't tell her.
He can't, not when the sight is so riveting.
The moment she runs the cloth over her breast, he knows they just passed the point of no return.
He's painfully constricted in his underwear so he crouches down to unlace his boots, never taking his eyes off her. He wants to follow the cloth's path with his mouth. He does a quick job of getting naked, particularly when her hand disappears between her legs.
He's right behind her in a flash, his hand covering hers, rubbing the cloth just where… Her head falls back on his shoulder, her breath catching in her throat. He could get addicted to those sounds very quickly, he decides, letting his other hand run over her ribcage and all the way to her breast.
"Marcus…" she whispers when he circles her nipple.
He's frustrated by the barrier of cloth between his fingers and her so he tries to nudge it away but she seems to come back to herself and turns around in his arms.
"Abby." It's almost a whine but he doesn't care. He wants her. He needs her. There would be time for games later, time for…
"Soon." she promises. She runs the cloth on his neck, on his shoulders and down his arms. She's trying her best to be efficient, he can tell, but she can't stop herself from touching any more than he can. She's bent on cleaning them up and a part of him understands why, they smell and taste like blood and death, but it's not the part who's in control right now. His brain isn't doing the thinking right at this moment.
He doesn't stand still while she washes him, his palms roam on her back, on her ass… They're relentless in their exploration and his fingers clench against her flesh when she brings the cloth to his inner thigh, when she playfully wraps it around his length and…
"Abby." he growls. He's throbbing already and he doesn't think he will last long if she plays that game. It's not her hand he wants.
He kisses her because it's the only logical thing to do, the only thing he can do. The bed is right there but they end up against the wall instead. He snatches the cloth from her hand while she's distracted by his mouth and tosses it away. They're clean enough, he decides. It might have been better to wait after the bath but he can't quite care.
He bends the knees a little, still kissing her, and runs his palms under her thighs. He doesn't give her a warning before lifting her up. Pain flares in his wrists and he groans but he doesn't let a small thing like that deter him. Her hand wraps around him again, tortures him with bliss… He bows his head to let his lips run on her collarbone, to her breasts…
He pins her against the wall with his hips to free one of his hands, to bring it between their bodies… The second he touches her she drops her forehead on his shoulder, short of breath. It soon turns to panting as they find a rhythm to their strokes…
Eventually, he can't take it anymore and he takes his hand away. She lifts her head from his shoulder, he brushes her hair back, drawing her in for another kiss… He doesn't need to tell her what he wants. He puts his hand back under her thighs to better support her as she guides him inside her…
He's careful at first, too painfully aware of exactly how long it must have been for her. But the sounds she makes with every new inch delights him too much and he can't really control the buckling of his hips. Her fingers dig in the back of his neck when he buries himself in her.
He wants to ask if she's alright but the growl that escapes her throat is almost feral.
"Move." she commands and then soothes her harness with a mind-blowing kiss. "Please…"
He doesn't really need more than that to grant her request. He thinks he's drunk on the little noises she makes when she gets close but it's nothing to what he feels when she actually climaxes with his name on her lips.
That's his undoing.
He reaches his release with a cry of her name.
For a moment, they bathe in the afterglow and everything is perfect, calm, peaceful. Then he starts coming back into his body and he can't quite help a wince. She must glimpse it because she immediately unhooks her legs and places her feet down.
"Do I have to stitch you up again?" she chuckles.
"Entirely worth it." he shrugs with a smile.
He flexes his wrists a few times until she grabs his hands and turns them palms up. She studies the bandages attentively but when no stain of blood shows up she trails her fingers to his elbows and steps into the space between his arms, looking up at him with a smile, eyes twinkling in mischief.
"We are doing it again." she declares.
"As you know, I never argue with my doctor." he lies, which warrants him a small playful whack on the shoulder. He embraces her, resting his chin on the side of her head. "I love you."
He doesn't let himself think about it or make it a big thing. Compared to everything they've been through… It's not scary to say and it's not scary to think.
It's easy even.
The easiest thing he has ever done.
The smile that immediately stretches her lips is bright if a little wistful. He knows what she's thinking about. Six months. Six months isn't long enough. Six months is…
"We will have to make the most of it." he shrugs before she can say anything.
Her face softens, probably because of this gift of his to always know what she's worrying about. She cups his cheek, her thumb tracing random paths in his beard.
"I love you." she confesses, just as easily as he had. As if they have been saying it for years instead of for the first time. The kiss is gentler than the others they've shared today but it soon turns heated again. "Bath." she mumbles against his mouth, carefully guiding him backward.
He lets out a disappointed groan but he knows she's right so he doesn't fight her on it. He's the first to step in the bathtub and the warm water wrapping around his calves in an immediate relief to his aching muscles. He sinks in the bath with a content sigh.
"Keep your arms out." she warns. "I made the bandages as waterproof as I could but I don't want the wounds to get wet."
He obediently rests his arms on either side of the tub and spreads his legs as wide as he can to make space for her. "Get in."
She doesn't need to be told twice. She settles between his legs, her back against his chest, with a blissful sigh of her own.
It's frustrating, not being able to wrap his arms around her as she snuggles against him, or not being able to help her wash her hair – something he will definitely do at some point, he decides – but the safe bubble they're in compensates for it.
He drifts off while she rinses the shampoo off her hair and only wakes up way later, when there are only a handful of candles left burning and the water is cold around them. Abby is curled up against his chest and he can't help a smile even as he nudges her awake.
He can get used to this.
Even if it's only for six months…
It makes it all worth it.