Octavia

She found her brother sitting near the gate to Camp Jaha, just inside the electrified fence. His shift was over, but he was still wearing his uniform, the same uniform that all the security personnel wore. A guard again, just like on the Ark. But they both knew it wasn't the same at all; just another world, deceptively similar to the first, yet unbelievably different. She liked to imagine that he found the outfit uncomfortable.

He was sitting on a log, gun slung over his back, heavy boots toeing idly through the earth. The sunset glinted off his black curls as she approached, two steaming cups in her hands. Monty had invented a special brew, a sleep aid, that half the camp had come to rely on, and Bellamy was no exception. She knew it had been hard for him to sleep since Mount Weather, since Clarke left.

She sat down on the log next to him and handed him one of the cups. He gave her a gentle smile and inhaled the vapours, but he didn't take a sip. Octavia didn't push him, knowing he'd drink it when he was ready, sleep when he was ready.

They watched the sun slipping lower through the trees, the light being swallowed by the horizon, and a comfortable silence passed between them. They had long since discussed everything that needed saying, rehashed Mount Weather, Bellamy's time as an inside man, the battle, Octavia's training with Indra, Lexa's betrayal, the decision to kill everyone in the mountain, Clarke choosing not to come home.

Bellamy struggled with some of the things he'd done- she knew that. He also, sometimes, struggled with the fact that he struggled.

Once she'd found him like this and he'd said to her, though he was really talking to himself, "I did it for you. They had you, they would have killed you- killed all of you. Clarke knew that. We had no choice but to irradiate."

She had reached over, squeezed his knee. "You can feel guilty for doing something even if it was right," she'd said, gentle. "You can be glad you saved me and sad that those people had to die."

Bellamy had smiled sideways at her, rolled his eyes playfully. "Is that one of those Grounder lessons?" he'd asked. "More warrior philosophy?"

Octavia had just smiled at him. "Maybe."

He'd sighed. "She didn't have to go," he'd protested quietly, glaring angrily into the distance as though the world owed him something.

"She did," Octavia had answered simply, gently. "She left, so she must have had to go." They'd had their differences, she and Clarke, but Octavia knew that she wouldn't have made that decision lightly.

Bellamy had sighed again, leaned his head back into the sky and exhaled an angry breath. "She didn't have to go," he'd repeated, stubborn. Angry.

Octavia had laced her fingers through his, squeezed. "Life is long, Bell. She'll come back when she's ready." She hadn't really believed that, thought Clarke was most likely dead by then, but she had said it for Bellamy's sake, for his peace of mind. It mattered to her- that he had hope, that he could imagine a world where his burdens might be shared again. She'd seen it as a kind lie.

Tonight her brother was less troubled, though he always held himself as though he had everything weighing on his shoulders. It was not unlike the way he'd been when they were young and back on the Ark, when his life had revolved around protecting her. That had been another world, but he was still the same person.

Now that he was reasonably confident that she was safe, tough, self-reliant, Bellamy's worries had shifted to the other kids, to this camp as a whole. Sometimes Octavia marveled at how her brother had changed from the angry young man who had insisted they abandon the dropship as soon as possible, to someone who felt that it was his responsibility to watch over the remainder of the hundred, and keep them as safe as he had once kept her.

She had a feeling he had promised Clarke he'd do as much, and Bellamy had never been one to make a promise lightly. Still, she worried about him, wished he would put himself first for once, realised he probably didn't know how.

"If you don't drink that soon, you won't sleep tonight," she chided gently. It had been a long time since they'd left Mount Weather, yet more often than not her brother spent his mornings under a cloud, clearly plagued by nightmares and sleeplessness. Monty's tonic took the edge off, but the underlying stress, and the trauma from what he'd gone through… that would only pass with time. She knew that a warrior shouldn't worry about what she couldn't control, but worrying about Bellamy was not an emotion she knew how to turn off.

He smiled at her, took a long sip of his drink, and then tapped his cup against hers. "Happy?"

"Yes," she answered, nodding, returning his smile with a wry one of her own. She sipped her own drink of simple tea; she didn't need help relaxing at night. Lincoln's arms wrapped around her made it easy to sleep. "Very happy."

"How's Lincoln?" he asked, and Octavia wondered- not for the first time- if Bellamy could read her mind. She smiled to herself. She was glad that he liked Lincoln now, that he respected him, that there was no hostility left between the two men.

"He's fine," she replied. "He's still settling in, but he's happier now that he's helping out with the training."

Bellamy nodded and looked at her, reaching out to curl one of her braids around his finger, giving it an affectionate tug. "He's good for you."

She knew that statement was a miracle, but she pretended it wasn't. "He is," she agreed.

Bellamy drained the rest of his cup and got to his feet, rolling his shoulders back and forth for a moment as though he could shrug off the weight of the world. She watched him, wishing she could take that burden from him.

"Want some company?" she asked him. It was something she had offered more than once over the last few weeks, just so he would know he didn't have to be alone, but he had always declined.

Before the Sky Box, Octavia had never slept alone a day in her life. Growing up in a tiny room, a room with only two beds for three people, she had either curled into her mother or curled into Bellamy, or she had slept in the bunk below her brother's when their mother stayed out all night. Having to sleep isolated and alone in her cell in the Sky Box had been painful, and she'd known Bellamy would have been equally lonely in that year she was gone, after their mother was floated. After all, he had never slept alone before either.

So she kept her offer on the table, reminding him periodically that he didn't have to be isolated if he didn't want to. Still, he always had the same answer. Reaching down to give her shoulder a light squeeze, he shook his head. "No, I'm fine. Goodnight, O."

"Night, Bell," she answered, listening as his footsteps trailed away. There were things that never changed, and her brother's habits were one of them- his moods, his exprssions, his footsteps, his mannerisms, his breath… she had grown up with those familiar things, trapped in that tiny room with very little to amuse her but him, and she had memorised everything about him without even trying. She was as attuned to him now as she had always been, and she was worried about him.

After he was gone she sat there until the sky was completely dark and then slowly lightened again as the moon grew bright and more stars came out to twinkle across the vast black expanse. Octavia wondered if she would ever get used to the beauty of the world. She hoped not.

She couldn't help but think of Clarke, of where she might be, or where her body might lay. She had been angry the last time they'd had a proper conversation, but she liked to imagine that Clarke had forgiven her for her harsh words. More importantly, she liked to imagine that she had forgiven Clarke for what she'd done. Her absence made that easier, made it possible to believe in absolution.

Octavia had learned another lesson from the Grounders: the dead were gone. There was no use holding grudges against dust.