Anya's boots clipped against the metal plating of the Ark's floor. Each step she took echoed out around her as she continued to walk forward. She ignored the nods of those she passed, her mind very much distracted.

Part of her seethed, part of her wanted to reach out for the nearest person and slap them, if only to ease some of the tension she could feel building within her. Lexa was missing. Those words made her jaw clench. Lexa was perhaps the only real friend she had on the Ark. Of course she had coworkers, people she could rely on. But no one she'd really like spending time with outside of her shifts.

And now she was missing.

Reapers, from what she knew, were something to be avoided, were cruel, monstrous, willing and eager to kill and to maim. She didn't need to be told any more or any less.

"Hey," she had almost forgotten that Octavia followed behind her, the youth clearly reading her growing temper. "Hey," Octavia repeated, and this time Anya felt her reach out and tug her sleeve to get her attention.

She rounded on the younger woman, she loomed over her with whatever height she possessed and she didn't fight the glare on her face.

"Why am I following you?" instead of backing down, instead of stepping back Octavia held her ground.

Anya could see an uncertainty, she could see a worry and the slightest apprehension in Octavia. And yet, for some reason, she found herself appreciating the fact that Octavia met her without recoiling, no matter the fear she may have been feeling.

And so Anya sighed, she looked away and she took a second or ten to calm herself before she responded.

"Sorry," Anya said and perhaps she should apologise. If only because she had insisted Octavia follow her.

Octavia bit her lip and Anya could see her war with whether to ask a question or not, perhaps whether to turn away and disappear from her view, or any other thing she didn't quite care enough about to consider.

"I'm guessing it was bad news?" Octavia asked, and her voice was small, quiet, and for the slightest of moments Anya could picture Octavia as the tiniest of animals underfoot, beaten down by whatever customs her very existence had broken through no fault of her own.

"Yeah," Anya said as she gestured with her head for Octavia to continue following her, this time her pace a lot more steady. "Not good," she said. "Just stay quiet for a moment, I need to think."

It didn't take long before Anya, with Octavia in tow, rounded one last corner before she came to her office door. Faded and chipped paint stretched across the door's length that was barely legible, its deterioration having started long before Anya was ever put in charge of communications. Anya entered her code on the lock before the door hissed open to reveal a room somewhere between cramped and spacious, where most spaces were filled with screens or radios, cables and wires.

"Get in," Anya said as she jerked her thumb towards the open door.

Octavia paused a moment as she looked back down the corridor and to any others that may have seen them together.

"Won't people say something?" Octavia asked, the question yet again tinged with that same sad acceptance.

"I don't care. Get in," and Anya stepped inside without looking back at Octavia.

It took only a second longer before she heard Octavia enter behind her before the door closed. Anya walked over to her chair, reached out and spun it around and she flopped herself down as she crossed her legs, one ankle resting atop a knee as her head tilt to the side as she took in Octavia.

The younger woman had her arms wrapped around herself, her shoulders hunched just a little as if she tried to shield her very core from any that might see fit to approach with anything less than good intentions. Even the way her eyes darted back and forth ever so slightly made Anya think of a frightened and trapped animal. Not that she had ever really seen one in real life before.

"What do you do, Octavia?" Anya asked, perhaps to break the ice, perhaps because she was actually curious. Most people were assigned a duty-station early in their life, they would train towards it and they would be forced to get good at it. There weren't enough resources to waste on people who wouldn't and couldn't provide on the Ark.

She also wasn't dumb enough to think that Octavia's mere existence as the forbidden child, the second born, the only sibling, would do her any favours.

Octavia's eyes darted to hers and she felt the woman try to muster up some kind of pride, some kind of shield.

"Facilities maintenance," Octavia said, and there was a barely-there wobble to her voice. But it was enough for Anya to know Octavia's life hadn't panned out the way she had wanted it to.

Anya didn't need Octavia to elaborate. She knew facilities maintenance was simply the fancy way of saying cleaner. But it was a vital skillset that most didn't need much training for. And if anything, it kept Octavia away from most during her shifts at night, and most importantly, it kept her out of sight of those that would blame her for being born.

"I'm the Communications Chief for GoSci station," Anya said eventually. "Sit," and she grimaced as she realised Octavia had been standing in the centre of the room awkwardly the entire time.

"Where?" and Octavia looked around.

"Anywhere," Anya shrugged. "Just not on the ground, that'd be awkward, we're not in school and I'm not a teacher."

Anya watched as Octavia shifted a pile of broken displays off the edge of the a nearby table before she sat on the table's edge, her hands underneath her, perhaps as a barrier to the cold of the table, perhaps simply out of habit.

"Do you know what I do, Octavia?" Anya asked eventually.

Octavia looked at her for a moment as she considered, and Anya didn't mind the silence, she didn't mind Octavia's careful stare or her open confusion. Perhaps most importantly, she didn't mind her, if only because she didn't seem incompetent.

"Make sure we can talk to other stations?" Octavia offered.

Anya smirked, it was a better guess than most would have given.

"Sort of," and she shrugged. "That's part of my job. Every station has a Communications team. Talking to other stations is part of our job, but ever since all the stations joined together that became a little redundant," and she shrugged again as she picked up a tablet from the table beside her. "Most people don't really understand what we do because they don't notice it. Each one of the station systems was designed in a different language," and she tapped the screen awake and held it out for Octavia to see the Russian text. "They were never meant to talk to each other, so things break more often than they work. Our job's to make sure no one notices things are broken and that systems aren't talking to each other before it's too late. Just imagine if the Ark woke up tomorrow and every single station had reverted back to their original language?"

Octavia nodded, and Anya could see she at least grasped the explanation, perhaps not why she was telling her though.

"What did you want to be when you were a kid?" Anya asked.

That question seemed to give Octavia pause for her eyes widened just a fraction, she looked away and for a moment Anya was sure her question had been the first time anyone had given Octavia any thought other than what she could do for them.

Eventually Octavia said something, but it was quiet, quieter than Anya could hear, and quieter than Anya would put up with.

"Look, Octavia," she said. "I'm not here to baby you. I'm not here for some kind of charity. If you're going to mope about or be li—"

"Teacher," and this time Octavia looked her in the eyes. "I wanted to be a teacher."

Anya smiled slightly, the expression perhaps a little too openly victorious. But she didn't care.

"So," and Anya crossed her arms as she reclined back in her chair a little more comfortably. "Octavia who wants to be a teacher," and she the younger woman flinch, perhaps out of habit, perhaps because she assumed Anya was about to make a joke at her expense. "Do you like your job?"

Octavia's eyes widened a fraction. Anya didn't blame her though. Most didn't get to choose or change their job once they were assigned. They needed a good reason to even consider making a request.

"It's—" Octavia paused, wet her lips and Anya could see her struggle to think clearly enough to see where the conversation could be going. "It's what I was assigned," Octavia said, and Anya knew Octavia must still fear about her life, at least in some way, even though she hadn't been the one to commit the crime that had brought her into the world.

"Look, Octavia," Anya said. "I don't think you're stupid. Far from it," she didn't know why, but she had a hunch. "Yeah, there's dicks out there who treat you like shit. But I'm not one of them," she snorted as she thought about all those who she knew must have talked down to Octavia, must have seen her cleaning the grime of a bulkhead, scraping rust off deck plating and any other number of jobs. She supposed it didn't help that most assigned to facilities maintenance had mainly been selected from those who couldn't cut it in any other job, sometimes because they were idiots, sometimes because they simply didn't like whatever they had been given and were too worrisome to force to work, but hadn't actually committed a crime severe enough to be floated.

"I—" Octavia went to speak but Anya cut her off with a sharp shake of her head as she stood.

"Do you want to work for me instead?" Anya asked.

Perhaps it was foolish of her to even consider taking Octavia under her wing. In earlier times, long before they had known the Ark was doomed, she was sure that doing this would put her on some kind of blacklist. But now, when things were changing? When they were soon to come crashing down to the Earth? She thought everyone deserved a fresh start. If anything, she thought it'd give Octavia something to look forward to before the fairly likely chance that they blow up on reentry.

"I—" Octavia began again, and this time Anya could see something a little brighter in her eyes. "What about my shift tonight?"

"Who do you report to?"

"Jenkins, from—"

"I know him," Anya cut in. "I'll deal with it," and she began to walk back to the door to her office, her head jerked in its direction to tell Octavia it was time for her to go. "Be here for Bravo shift first thing tomorrow," Anya thumbed the door open and stepped aside for Octavia to exit.

She could see Octavia's hands shaking a little, perhaps from excitement, perhaps from adrenaline, perhaps from fear of the unknown. It told Anya enough to know she had made the right call.

But Octavia turned to face her as she came to stop in the corridor.

"Why are you doing this?" Octavia asked quietly. "Why are you helping me? You don't have to."

Anya shrugged because truthfully, despite all the talk of fresh starts she didn't actually know why she had decided to help Octavia.

"I don't know," it was truthful. "We've all made sacrifices, Octavia. Maybe everyone deserves a fresh start."

With that Anya began to reach for the lock to her door that would slide it shut, but just before her finger reached it Octavia stepped forward just enough that it caught her attention.

"Hey, wait," Octavia said, and now Anya could see a intensity in her eyes. "I don't know your name."

"Anya," she said with a slight lifting of her lips. She couldn't help it.

"Thank you, Anya," Octavia said with her own smile that seemed less burdened, less weighted down by whatever guilts had once consumed her.

And, as Anya pressed the button that slid her door shut, she ignored the fact that she could see tears in Octavia's eyes.

Lexa found herself not entirely sure how to react to the revelations that came crashing through her mind. Part of her refused to believe it, part of her thought it made sense and one small part told her that she must be missing more to the story.

Building upon the confusion was the fact that Clarke, still quite unashamedly naked, remained standing in the water that lapped at her exceptionally pale grey flesh.

Lexa didn't realise she stared until Clarke laughed a quiet tune that danced somewhere between pity and smugness. But the sound made Lexa's eyes snap up to meet her gaze, and Lexa willed herself to block out her peripheral vision as she tried to clear her head.

"Does this help?" Clarke said gently as she lowered herself back into the water until it lapped at her shoulders, head tilted to the side slightly and her hair slowly beginning to float out around her.

"Th—" Lexa swallowed the lump in her throat and she cursed the fact that her mouth felt so very dry. "Thank you," but Lexa blushed, her cheeks must have reddened more than they already were. She couldn't even believe she had admitted just how much of an effect Clarke's figure had on her.

She couldn't deny it wasn't a nice figure, too. It had been full, muscled where it needed and slender, sleek and elegant at the same time. Even the droplets of water that had beaded down her body, the trails and paths they had wove across and around the curves of her flesh had been enticing. The scars, too, they had been oddly charming, oddly entrancing. And the colour of her skin, how pale, how grey, how it had seemed to darken in pigment in certain places had made Lexa want to touch, even just for a moment—

Stop.

She didn't realise how much she had let her imagination wander until she startled and found Clarke had drifted even closer to her, lips quirked up ever so slightly.

But beneath the veneer of calm, perhaps even amusement, Lexa was sure something sinister, something dark and grotesque lay in wait. She swallowed hard in an attempt to clear her throat in preparation for whatever was to come next. She was sure this whole thing was a ploy, something designed to put her on the back foot and make her do or reveal something she shouldn't.

Clarke even looked at her with a predatory glint in her eyes, but what was unsettling was a playfulness seemed to linger just beneath the surface. But Lexa didn't know if that playfulness was more house cat or unshackled lion.

"Do you believe me?" Clarke asked, and her voice seemed to drop in tone just enough that it sent a shiver down Lexa's back despite the heat of the water. "Do you believe that the Mountain Men are evil?"

"I—" Lexa paused to try to gather her thoughts and to think of any scenario that could happen. "Yes," partly. But she wouldn't voice that last bit aloud.

Clarke's eyes narrowed for a moment in thought, and despite the fact that Lexa didn't actually know where Clarke had been hiding that knife, or where it had now disappeared, she felt herself not in any imminent danger from being physically hurt.

"You met with one of them," Clarke said and it was as much guess as statement Lexa thought.

"Yes," Lexa answered. "I met with one of them," she thought telling the truth to be the safest thing for her to do.

"How long did you stay in their company?" and Clarke moved a little closer, perhaps subconsciously, perhaps purposefully.

"Hours," Lexa said, she didn't know exactly how long, but it was hours. "I lost track of time. As long as the acid fog lasted."

That answer pleased Clarke for she smiled, sunk a little lower in the water until it covered her mouth and she seemed to blow a bubble or two as her eyes closed. And for a moment, for the briefest of seconds, Lexa thought it cute. But she squashed that thought, she smothered it before she even fully comprehended what it was taking place in her mind.

"The Mountain Man injected himself," Clarke said after she seemingly got bored of blowing bubbles.

"Yes," Lexa said, and her mind turned back to the vial of black liquid she had seen him with. "With black liquid."

"Nightblood blood," Clarke said and Lexa tried to match what she had seen in the vial and what she had seen of Clarke's blood.

If all else failed, Lexa would at least trust her eyes. And she had seen Carl's fingers beginning to twitch ever so slightly, she had seen the discomfort, as if his body was slowly beginning to burn, slowly beginning to be exposed to heat that he couldn't escape from. She had seen the way Clarke's wound had stitched itself together, how it had healed. And no matter how bizarre, how supernatural everything was, it made sense.

There were questions Lexa needed answered, there were points of view that needed to be clarified, if only because she couldn't believe people would use others in such a way. And yet, a little part of her whispered that if she was honest it wouldn't surprise her. Hadn't the Ark done anything it could to ensure their survival? Hadn't people been floated for breaking the smallest of laws? Hadn't there been discussions of sacrificing a hundred held in the skybox?

And for some reason, as Lexa forced herself to look Clarke in the eyes, she found herself trusting this woman. She didn't know why, she couldn't even begin to analyse the thoughts in her head.

"My people," Lexa said, "are they safe?"

Clarke took the time to consider the question before answering.

"For now, yes," but Lexa thought there more to her answer.

"For now?"

"If they ally themselves with the Mountain then they will become the enemy," it was said so simply that Lexa could have missed the underlying threat that wasn't voiced.

And the answer to what Lexa now needed to do was simple.

Lexa had spent her entire adult life in charge of who went a day without power, whose energy rations would be sacrificed for the greater good, who would go cold and who would go without light when power shortages splintered through the Ark.

And so, if it meant that Lexa needed to sacrifice the Mountain Men to ensure her people weren't destroyed, then she'd do it.

Simple, right?