❝my days of breaking into places and stealing shit are over. what do you want me to do?❞

❝i want you to break into places and steal some shit.❞

-scott lang and hank pym, ant-man

♛

THE SKY IS AS dark and threatening as I expect it to be on a night as foreboding as this. The electric gate buzzes when Clarke and I enter the camp, wandering around for about thirty seconds before she points to where her mom stands. Abby looks impatient, and, most of all, livid.

"Mom," Clarke calls, causing her mother to jog toward us with...Jaha?

"Where have you been?" Abby demands in a motherly tone. Her eyebrows are pinched together in the manner I've seen enough times to know she's angry with us. "We're leaving."

"We know how to stop the attack," I repeat what I said to the others, making her eyes widen. I can't stop side-glancing at an obviously worn Thelonious Jaha standing right by me. How did he even get here, and when?

"What are you talking about?" he questions in that annoying tone where I know he doesn't believe us. His dark skin is stretched over his skin more than usual, ragged beard mostly gray and eyes haunted. It makes me wonder what happened to him for his appearance to be so uncharacteristically rugged.

Clarke and I glance at each other to see who should speak first. When I nod to her, she immediately launches into an explanation. "We haven't negotiated with Grounders because we haven't had anything to offer them. The biggest threat they face is from the Reapers. We think we may be able to eliminate that threat for them once and for all."

"How?" Abby asks, a spark of interest igniting her deep brown eyes. I fight off a smile. She has always been one to abide the rules- unless the rules are dumb, and in that case, she goes against them. It reminds me of myself.

"Abby?" Jaha's voice makes me want to punch him. He's never believed in a bunch of kids- it's why he sent us down here to die, even his own son. Wells. I can see his face when I look at his father, the image making me cold inside. I regret not attempting to make amends with him. I judged him for Jaha's actions, and it was wrong. "You can't seriously--"

"Over there!" Monroe shouts, making me stand on my toes to see what she's referring to. Distant torches light up the darkness beyond our camp. One by one, their flames flicker on until there are ten, twenty, fifty, a hundred. A thousand, maybe.

Jaha is the one to address the obvious, his dull eyes going wide. "They're here."

When Abby requests to speak with us about our plan, I sneak off to avoid the dreadful meeting. Clarke has always been the more patient one most times, which means she is the better one for that job than me. Besides, my unease at seeing Jaha again is putting me in no mood to speak to a bunch of adults who think little of me.

Instead, I wander around the Ark in the busiest sector I can find. Guards are hurrying left and right along with commoners bustling about. None of them have what I'm looking for. With the amount of people hurrying around me, they don't notice my eyes lingering around their pockets. My hands itch to grab what I'm here to take. Stealing, as bad as it is, is still second nature to me.

Then I spot Major Byrne. She's walking briskly, almost running, so I have to time it carefully. As soon as she passes, my hand darts out and plucks the walkie from around her belt. I quickly stuff it under my coat so nobody will notice my stolen item, but nobody pays attention to a young, ragged delinquent like myself.

The crisp air hits me hard when I break from the crowd and head outside. The acrid scent of smoke from the Grounder army beyond invades my sense of smell. My eyes dart around, trying to find a spot more secluded, but it's hard when the camp is preparing for evacuation and everyone is hustling about.

Eventually, I find the most sparse spot I can and hurry over to it. An empty barrel makes for a nice chair once I plop down on it. Pulling the walkie out, I switch to channel five and press the button three times so a quiet click will be audible from the other side.

A voice responds almost instantly. "Amazon."

I can't help but chuckle- it's almost as if he was waiting. A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth when I respond. "King of the Jungle."

"You get there okay?" His voice has a twinge of concern in it that warms my heart. That's Bell- always asking if others are fine before he worries about himself.

"Fine, but camp's chaos," I reply as my eyes shift around to the people preoccupied with gathering their things. "Everyone's almost ready to go. Looks like we got here just in time. Clarke is talking to the adults and trying to persuade them to let us go."

"Shouldn't you be there, too?"

I scrunch my nose up. "Nah. You know us. She's more...I don't know. The adults like her." I release the button to let him respond before quickly pressing it again and lowering my voice to a hiss. "Besides, Jaha is here."

"What? Where did he come from?"

I open my mouth to reply, "I don't--"

"Gossiping, huh?"

I topple off of the barrel in surprise and fall hard on my butt in the grass, giving a yell of surprise right into the microphone. The walkie helps the situation by smacking me right in the nose when it falls from my hand. The sensitive cartilage stings; I rub it and groan.

"Fallon?" Bellamy's panicked voice comes from the speaker. "Fallon, report."

I look up from the ground to see Raven standing above me with an amused smirk on her face. Her eyes shine with glee in the darkness, making me sigh and lift the walkie to my mouth.

"I'm fine," I tell him sourly while shooting a flare in Raven's direction. "Raven just scared the shit out of me."

A relieved laugh comes from the other side. I imagine myself glaring at Bellamy, too.

"You know, I didn't mean to scare you so badly," Raven admits with a growing smile. "But you were clearly too focused on your boyfriend that I couldn't resist. God, he's not even physically here and you're practically drooling. You should hear yourself." To my horror, she throws her head back and says in an actual moan, "Bellamy!"

My face feels like it's going to burst into flames as I jump up and nearly trip over the barrel before I can press a hand over her mouth. A few passersby have heard her, sending skeptical glances our way. I wait until they look away before releasing her slowly.

"I have never done that," I tell her in a low voice, face burning so fiercely I can feel it all the way down to my toes.

"Yeah, but you've probably thought about it," Raven teases gleefully. When I shoot her a look of daggers, she shrugs. "We've all done it with cute guys. There's no shame in it."

I shake my head and roll my eyes. At least Bellamy isn't actually here to witness this.

But, just my luck, his voice crackles from the walkie in the form of a disbelieving question. "Did Raven just moan my name?"

I glance down at the radio in my hand to find I'm not even pushing the button. My head snaps to Raven, eyes widening in horror when she produces a different one with her finger on the button.

I feel a new kind of embarrassment swallowing me whole. My legs turn to jelly at the accomplished smile taking over her face along with the sound of Bellamy's laughter on the other end. Moving quickly, I snatch the radio from her and throw it as far away as I can, where it lands in a bed of tall grass yards away.

This will make for an interesting conversation once I see Bellamy again.

--

It's morning when Clarke and I are finally allowed to leave. After a restless, fitful sleep, I am in no shape to go speak with the Commander, but I really don't have a choice at this point. It was my idea and I have to go. Besides, there is no way I'm letting Clarke go on her own.

We stay close to each other as we head into the barricade surrounding us. A small parade of Grounders follows us closely behind, heavy armor clanking with every step against the barren, uneven ground. There are hundreds of tents made of woven material dispersed around the army, but the one the Commander resides in is nothing short of obvious. It's huge and lopsided with poorly constructed flags sticking out of the top that contain some sort of symbol. I eye the three interlocking circles wearily.

A tall, ominous man approaches us at the entrance. His black hair is pulled back into tight braids down his back while a scraggly beard makes up for the parts that are shaved near his temples. Like many of the Grounders, tattoos cover either side of his face and black is smeared under his watchful eyes.

"If you so much as look at her in the wrong way, I will slit your throats," he warns in a deep voice.

Right. Great.

I keep my face as blank and impassive as possible, looking him not in the eye but at his crooked nose. He gives both of us a long look before drawing a curtain of red cloth and netting aside to let us in. I take a deep breath as I enter with Clarke following right behind me.

I approach with careful steps, forcing my eyes to stay trained in front of me instead of at anyone else who may be inside. After all, one look at the Commander and the Grounder's threat is so clear in my mind that I feel as if he's already holding a sword to my neck.

She sits on her throne of pointed wood with her legs crossed at her knees and ankles, holding a knife between her lean fingers almost boredly. Long and brown hair is fashioned almost like Octavia's in the sense that her braids twist behind her head before blending in with the rest of the strands. Her face is marked not with tattoos but war paint, drawn around her eyes to her temples in sharp points like the wings of bats. Even her clothes make her seem more dangerous than any other Grounder.

"You're the ones who burned three hundred of my warriors alive," is the first thing she says to us. She does not look up at us at all, her focus trained firmly on her knife.

I bite my tongue so I don't accidentally spit out something I'll regret. Instead, the thought sears in my mind like a white-hot inferno. We burned them because you sent them to kill us.

But Clarke is not so careful and says practically the same thing I'm thinking. "You're the one who sent them there to kill us."

I refrain from widening my eyes and swallow painfully. My heart beats so hard in my chest it begins to hurt.

Finally, the Commander glances up at us. Her jaw ticks before she plants the point of the knife into one of the arms of the throne so it wedges in deep enough to stay there. Her hand rests on it- a warning. "Do you have an answer for me, Clarke and Fallon of the Sky People?"

My cue. I make sure my voice is sure and strong when I speak, not allowing it to waver despite my fear. "We have an offer, yes."

"This is not a negotiation," she responds with her eyebrows raised. Just as I'm about to reply with a different approach, a female's voice from the side catches my attention.

"Tek ai frag em op en dison laik odon," she spits in Trigedasleng. I don't understand a word except odon, but the threat is clear on her face. She is a shorter woman with dark skin and black tattoos curling around her eyes and cheekbones, a scowl never leaving her lips.

The Commander holds up a hand to silence her.

"We can help you beat the Mountain Men," Clarke rushes, letting the desperation surface in her voice for only a split second.

The Commander places her weapon back in her lap with an expression of shallow interest. "Go on."

Clarke continues, sharing her own personal experience from the mountain. "Hundreds of your people are trapped inside Mount Weather. Kept in cages. Their blood is used as medicine."

"How do you know this?" she jabs.

"Because I saw them. Our people are prisoners there, too. I was one of them."

"Lies," the woman from before sneers in English. Her jaw barely seems to move when she speaks. "No one escapes the mountain."

"I did," Clarke insists. " With Anya. We fought our way out together."

"Another lie. Anya died in the fire. You killed her."

Having been prepared for them not believing her, Clarke reaches into the pocket of her coat. The Grounders surrounding us place their hands on the swords at their hips. After a short pause, Clarke pulls out a braid from Anya's head.

"She told me you were her second," she says after wetting her lips. "I'm sure she'd want you to have this."

Clarke steps forward to hand the Commander the braid, keeping a watchful eye on the guard who threatened us before. Even his eyes hold a sense of loss to them.

"We don't know it's hers," the woman says, and I clench my jaw in frustration.

"Shof op, Indra," the Commander says to her, which speaks for itself what it means- Quiet. Indra must be the woman's name. "Anya was my mentor before I was called to lead my people." She carefully sets the hair beside her throne. "Did she die well?"

A twinge of remorse pinches my insides as I remember that Abby is the one who killed Anya.

"Yes," Clarke lies, easily taking this opportunity to manipulate the Commander. "By my side. Trying to get a message to you."

"What message?"

Now it's my turn to launch into the plan. I make my voice level again. "The only way to save our people is if we join together."

"Those who are about to die will say anything," Indra sneers.

"I'm still waiting for an offer, Clarke and Fallon," the Commander says, which confuses me. What happened to 'this is not a negotiation' from a few minutes ago?

I choose my words very carefully, aware that a wrong choice in how I phrase my proposition could get us killed. "The Mountain Men have turned your people into Reapers for years. We can turn them back."

"Impossible!" Indra shoots back, her lip curling to show her perfectly straight teeth. "Heda, ai ste yu op daun teik ai frag em op!"

"We've done it," I cut in, trying hard to win them over even with Indra's constant challenges. "With Lincoln."

Indra actually steps forward this time, heading toward us with her hand on her sword. "That traitor is the reason..."

"Indra."

"...my people were slaughtered by your people."

"Em pleni!" The Commander rises from her throne with an outraged expression, glaring harshly at Indra, whose hateful eyes bore into my own. She's a few inches shorter than me but I know to fear her.

Indra sheaths her weapon and trudges back to the side. I let out a slow breath of relief now that she isn't throwing daggers at me with her sharp glare.

The Commander steps down from her elevated throne and stands in front of us, about the same height as I am. Her intense green eyes switch from me to Clarke and back.

"You say you can turn Reapers back into men?" she questions quietly.

I respond with confidence. "Yes."

"Then prove it." A pause that allows me to hear my own heartbeat pounding in my ears. "Show me Lincoln."

Clarke and I lead the way toward the dropship with a small band of Grounders following, including Indra and the Commander- whom I finally know to be named Lexa. My body is stiff and tense the entire trip. I fear that they'll kill me if I so much as trip over a rock.

The dropship falls in sight after about fifteen minutes of absolute silence as we walk. Once I'm able to see the charred landscape surrounding it, my blood goes cold. I find it difficult to swallow at the sight of the ash-coated remains of bodies. I've walked past them without noticing before, but now their nonexistent eyes seem to follow me as I go.

We stop at the entrance. Clarke and I turn in sync to see Lexa standing in the center of our former camp with an unreadable expression. It twists my gut even further.

Clarke nods toward the ship. "This way."

I barely remember walking inside and climbing up to the hatch, but the second I open it and see Bellamy's face, I know something's wrong. My spirits deflate when I see Octavia feebly pumping an unresponsive Lincoln's heart as choked sobs come out of her. Abby stands nearby with a defeated expression.

Absolute terror strikes me when Lexa enters. I've never feared for my life so deeply as I have now, when our proof we could save the Reapers is gone once again. But not just any Reaper- Lincoln, one who helped us come so far and tried to have peace between our people.

I feel sick to my stomach. Lincoln is gone. God dammit, he's gone. My CPR hadn't been enough to save him. I should have done more, but I was too afraid of what he'd do while he was awake.

I'm so focused on staring at Lincoln's closed eyes that I don't notice Bellamy subtly reaching for the rifle at his side, or else I might have stopped him. But my eyes flicker to Lexa just in time to see her nod.

Indra growls deeply and unsheaths her sword. "Kill them all."

It happens so fast I would have missed it if I blinked. Bellamy raises his rifle to Indra, who points her sword at Abby, who holds an electric baton toward her, and the Grounder who had met us at the tent has the point of his weapon so close to my neck that I feel it prick my skin. If I move or breathe too deeply, I'll be cut. I'm careful not to swallow as his angry eyes sear into my own.

"Please, you don't have to do this," Clarke begs from near the hatch. She, unlike the rest of us, doesn't have any weapons pointed at her.

"You lied," Lexa counters with a snarl. "And you're out of time."

It's a split-second decision. Before anyone else can move, Abby kneels before Lincoln and jams the electric baton to his heart. The Grounder sputters and shakes as the electricity courses through him. His chest hits the ground with a slam when she releases him, but he's still unresponsive.

Clarke's eyes are wide in realization. "Hit him again."

Abby obliges and repeats the action. This time, Lincoln sucks in a breath of air and opens his bloodshot eyes, much to my relief. I would have sighed if the knife hadn't been touching my throat.

Octavia leans over him, voice quiet and careful as her eyes fill with hope. "Lincoln?"

"Octavia," her name comes out as a feeble whisper from his lips.

Lexa sheaths her weapon. Grudgingly, the Grounder in front of me does the same, releasing the pressure on my neck. A single drop of blood runs down my skin and drips into my shirt. He watches me under a careful stare. I don't wipe it away.

Back at the tent, Lexa, Clarke, and I stand at a table with a map made of rocks displayed on it. We are alone this time. The seclusion is both relieving and frightening- I find myself antsy.

"Lincoln's recovery was...impressive," Lexa praises with a calm expression, much unlike her untrusting one from earlier. "No one's ever survived such a fate before."

"And it can be done again," I promise gently. "It's just a drug- something that can be removed from their systems given time."

Lexa nods in understanding. "You may have your truce."

"Thank you," Clarke and I say at the same time. The phrase is like music to my ears.

"I just need one thing in return," she proposes.

Clarke smiles softly. "Tell us."

"Deliver me the one you call Finn. Our truce begins with his death."

--------

whoomp there it is!!!

-kristyn