┏ ━━┅━━━┅━━ ┓
chapter ten!
MEMENTO MORI
┗ ━━┅━━━┅━━ ┛

━━━━━━ ◦ ❖ ◦ ━━━━━━

THE FOREST HAS been plunged into darkness again by the time they finally catch sight of the man-made wall that surrounds the dropship camp. Ares' eyes are pulsing with fatigue and his feet scrape against the dirt more often than not. They hadn't slept on their way back, determining that the possibility of the Grounder catching up to them and Finn dying overnight was more important than a good night's rest.

The tracker is passed out in Blake's arms. Ares knows that isn't a good sign. His skin is also way too pale and sweaty for it to be a simple stab wound that's causing him pain— something else is causing this reaction.

He really hopes Collins doesn't die on them. They need his tracking skills in their camp. If he wasn't so valuable, Ares wouldn't care that much, but knowing Collins' knell is starting to ring makes Ares' heart pound with furious adrenaline.

Octavia is half-passed out, either arm slung over Jasper and Ares' shoulders. Their height difference makes for an awkward support system. It would make more sense for Jasper to carry Collins and for Blake and Ares to help Octavia since they're closer in height, but Jasper isn't strong enough to do that on his own. The result is Octavia stumbling around more than usual. The bloody cut on her head and lumpy bruises around it inform them that she must have been knocked out more than once; she probably has a mild concussion.

The moment they reach the doors, Jasper's voice screeches, "Clarke! Where's Clarke?"

Ares shoves open the gate with reckless abandon. The door swings violently, granting them access as the two boys struggle to get Octavia in.

"Get Clarke now!" Jasper commands to the nearest person— a girl named Harper, who doesn't even have time to turn around before Clarke shows up.

"Hey!" the girl in question shouts, jogging up to them. Her confused yet alarmed gaze roams over Octavia. Her eyes narrow in on the gash on the younger Blake's head and the way she's swaying from foot to foot. "I'm here. What's up?"

Just then, Blake appears through the gate with a very passed-out and half-dead Collins in his arms. Clarke's face falls immediately. Her lower lip trembles when she asks, "Finn?" and immediately darts forward. It's one of the few times Ares has seen her truly rattled. Her voice shakes when she mumbles, "Oh my God," over and over, but she still has the sense to put two fingers on the left side of his neck. Her breath comes out trembling yet relieved. "He's alive."

"They wouldn't let me take the knife out," Jasper explains with a nervous swallow.

"Yeah, that was a good call," Clarke praises, still struggling to make sense of the situation.

Ares' eyes snag onto Raven. Her expression is crestfallen, eyebrows pinched and jaw slack with shock at her boyfriend's state. She doesn't run right up to them. Rather, for a moment, she gives them space, though it seems like every cell in her body is begging her to do the opposite. Her restless energy makes her shift from foot to foot.

"Was this you, Ortega?" Connor demands in a furious jab, suddenly standing right in front of Ares with an expression of suspicion. His forward-set mouth is pulled into a frown and his black eyes blaze with fury.

Ares wastes no time in shoving the kid out of his personal space with the arm that isn't holding up Octavia. "No, asshole, it wasn't me. Christ, I have some morals. Why is everyone always so surprised by that?"

"Probably because you were imprisoned for murder," Jasper mutters with a shrug. Ares shoots him a withering glare that makes the boy zip his mouth shut and find a lot of interest in a nearby bonfire.

"Get him in the dropship," Clarke orders the rest of the boys who had rushed over to help. "Now. Go!"

A small crowd wrestles Collins from Blake's grip and carries him toward the ship. Octavia slips out of Ares' and Jasper's grips, deciding to test standing on her own. The raven-haired boy immediately gets lost in the momentary chaos. Ares finds himself standing alone with a very unsettled Clarke when Raven approaches her.

"Hey," she calls to get the blonde's attention, face still screwed up in that unbearable expression of distress. Her voice is near hysterics when she asks, "Can you save him?"

Clarke actually trips over her words. "No, I– Not me. I need my mother."

Raven shakes out her hands in frustration, grounding out, "There's still no radio."

"Raven," Clarke says, regaining some of her natural leadership qualities that project in her now-level tone, "fix it. Go!"

The girl in red turns around and storms toward the dropship. Ares watches her go for a moment until it's him and Clarke left. She turns to him, desperation and anxiety at war in her blue eyes that are glistening with tears which she won't allow to fall. She seems coiled tightly like a spring. Though she's clearly trying her best to stay calm and clear-headed in this time of imminent peril, she's still just a seventeen-year-old girl. Finn's life has just been placed on her shoulders.

"Can you help her?" she fires out, startling both Ares and herself.

"Maybe, I–"

Clarke cuts him off. "Good enough for me. Do it."

Ares is dumbfounded for a moment, wondering if she places a little too much faith in his technical and mechanical skills. Making the flares and controlling the circuit board had been a piece of cake. But fixing a half-tarnished radio so they can communicate with a space satellite with a restricted frequency and maybe a few hours at most to do so?

He tilts his head up toward the sky to see the clouds swirling together, blocking the stars. It seems that a storm is on its way as well.

As if this night couldn't have gotten any worse.

════ ⋆★⋆ ════

Hours pass. Ares is aware of every single second. He's jittery and nervous, preferring to keep his muscles tense so nobody notices their shaking. It doesn't stop his left hand from ticking against his knee. It seems that nothing can stand in the way of his anxious habit.

The tips of his fingers are slightly burned from a spark that had singed his skin. This is one area where his fingerless gloves are useless. The stupid radio had betrayed him when he'd been trying to re-connect two wires, making him hiss and drop them with a curse under his breath. Raven hadn't even teased him like she normally would have; instead, she'd grabbed the wires and joined them together without a problem.

They have had no success.

It doesn't help that the thunder crackling outside and lightning lighting up the dropship in bright flashes is extremely distracting. None of them have ever experienced a storm before. The wind howls, adding to the near-deafening noises that are culminating together to give Ares one hell of a headache.

Nate and Kiernan had dropped by earlier, but one look at Ares had the former dragging Kiernan away by the collar of his jacket. Nate knows Ares well enough to discern that his murderous expression means that he doesn't want company. There are still people hovering around him and Raven like annoying flies, waiting to see if they'll make any progress. He's about twelve seconds away from stabbing one of them with the newest addition to his personal armory.

Ares had gotten so bored an hour and a half ago that he'd stealthily stolen Raven's pocket knife without her or anyone around them noticing. He's honestly surprised that nobody has questioned why he keeps reaching into his left pocket. The handle is smooth despite the fact that it's probably a hundred years old like everything else on the Ark, the blade without a hint of rust. It's beautiful.

"This is Raven Reyes calling Ark Station," Raven says loudly and clearly into the microphone, lines of stress creasing her forehead. When there's nothing but crackling static on the other end, she repeats herself. "This is Raven Reyes, calling Ark Station."

Ares would offer to take over for her and test out the connection, but he's pretty sure the Earth Monitoring Station would just ignore him if they heard his voice. Instead, he tinkers with the few pieces of scrap metal on the small desk they've been issued for use, bouncing his leg up and down and trying to quell his urge to get rid of the people staring at them. Their eyes are burning holes in the back of his neck.

Although the wind frequently blows back the strip of canvas they use as a cover for the entrance, sending it streaming inside, the dropship is boiling. Ares supposes it doesn't help that he keeps moving, but shoving nearly a hundred kids into the ship and all of them expelling nervous energy makes for a very warm environment. Raven herself had taken off her gray quarter-sleeve and now sits in an olive green tank top. Ares is left in his blue t-shirt. It doesn't help, though, and sweat is causing his curls to stick to his forehead. He's also very certain that people keep staring at the scars lacerating his arms. There's one particularly gruesome one that starts at his collarbone and disappears down the front of his shirt that's attracting a lot of attention.

He definitely looks like the type to be a murderer.

"This is Raven Reyes calling Ark Station," Raven repeats for the umpteenth time. When there still isn't a response, she heaves a frustrated sigh and turns it over. Her brown eyes sweep over the components. "I think I need to cut this wire."

She reaches into the pocket of her jacket, which is slung across the back of her chair, and produces one of Ares's hand-crafted knives. It's abysmal in comparison to her actual pocket knife. The blade is only as sharp as Ares could get it, with her hand barely protected by the twine on its handle.

A puzzled frown takes over her mouth. "What the hell is this?"

Ares, far too pleased with her less-than-happy expression, takes her knife out and holds it up smugly. "What, you didn't notice?"

Her glare is as sharp as the blade. "Give it back, Ortega."

"Nah, I think I'll keep it for a little while," he replies, tucking the weapon into the waistband of his jeans. "Rule number one around here: never let your guard down when you're surrounded by a bunch of criminals. If you want your knife... you might just have to steal it back."

Raven raises an eyebrow. "Or I could just threaten you until you willingly hand it over."

He shrugs. "You could, but you wouldn't get very far."

It seems that the banter had taken some stress of off both of their shoulders. Raven seems less tense, like the brief interruption in her work had actually done her some good. As soon as she remembers the plight at hand, though, her face returns back to its former state of anxiety. She shoves the radio toward him in exasperation.

"Make yourself useful and cut that, then."

Ares does exactly that– and he takes her knife back out just to spite her, as well. She rolls her eyes and drums her fingers anxiously on the metal table. They're just inches apart — the desk really isn't that big, so their chairs are pulled up close together — and Ares is extremely hyper-aware of this fact. His elbow nudges hers as he works since he's left-handed. It only takes seconds for him to complete the task. As soon as he's done, he passes the radio back to Raven and she takes it back eagerly.

"That should help with the static," she says apprehensively, licking her chapped lips. Trying once more, she flips the radio around and speaks clearly into the microphone on her headset, "This is Raven Reyes calling Ark Station."

Still nothing. She tries a few more times, but it's completely silent on the other end.

"Are you sure you have the right frequency?" Monroe asks from where she's leaning up against the wall to their left, arms crossed over her chest.

"Yeah, I'm sure," Raven snaps back in frustration.

"Raven," Clarke says calmly, having sensed the rising anger from both of them. Ares jolts; he hadn't noticed her approach. She leans one arm on the table, hovering over his right shoulder. "You guys can do this, okay?"

Their co-leader looks tired. Her blonde hair is slick with sweat, chest shining and gray henley sticking to her skin. She's been nervously awaiting the arrival of Blake, Jasper, and Monty, who had gone back to the cave to hunt down the Grounder and bring him back. So far, there's been nothing, and the rain is beating down too hard for them to see very far into the distance. She won't be able to see them arrive until they come crashing into the dropship.

Raven glances over to where Finn is lying on one of the tables. He's been unconscious for a while now, growing ever-pale and with no sign of regaining consciousness anytime soon. The sight of him in that state makes her swallow thickly.

"Ark Station, please come in. I'm on the ground with the hundred." She pauses, swallowing again before adding quietly, "We need you."

Lightning illuminates the dropship's first level in a blinding flash of white light. A moment later, thunder booms so loudly that the structure nearly shakes. Ares huffs in frustration. He can't even marvel at his first experience of a storm because he's so damn anxious. In any other circumstance, he would have loved to lie down and listen to the howling wind and claps of thunder with his eyes closed, but now he's angry that it's happening.

"Calling Ark Station. Ark Station. Is anyone there? Please come in. Calling Ark Station. The hundred are alive. Can anyone hear me?"

A moment later, a man's voice crackling through the speakers makes them all jump. "This is a restricted channel. Who is this? Please identify yourself."

Raven and Ares share shocked expressions at the fact that it had worked. She's so surprised she nearly forgets to respond, wetting her lips again before saying, "This is Raven Reyes— I'm from Mecha Station. I'm transmitting from the ground. The hundred are alive. Please, you need to get Doctor Abby Griffin. Doctor Abby Griffin, now!"

They've got an audience. The spectators have been alerted by a reply, pressing into a tight circle around them. Clarke had pushed her way to the front. She rests her hands on the backs of their chairs, something like relief and anxiety on her face.

"Hang on, Raven," a familiar-sounding male voice says. It takes a moment for Ares to place it— Council Member Jacapo Sinclair. "We're trying to boost your signal."

A few moments of crushing silence. Raven glances at Ares, who gives her a supportive nod and a closed-lipped grin. She manages to lift her lips in response. They did it.

The crackling voice of Abby Griffin echoes through the low-quality speakers. "Raven, are you there?"

Raven turns toward Clarke. The blonde-haired girl gulps, eyes swimming with an undetectable emotion as her mouth stays open, unable to decide on what to say. Finally, she manages to choke out, "Mom? Mom, it's me."

Abby's voice is full of disbelief. "Clarke?"

Clarke closes her eyes. She doesn't look all too happy about hearing her mother's voice.

"Clarke, this is the Chancellor," the voice of the almighty Thelonious Jaha says. "Are you saying there are survivors on the ground?"

"Yes, the Earth is survivable. We're not alone," she answers. After a few seconds of no response, she adds hastily, "Mom, he's dying. The knife's still in his chest."

There are a few words that come through, but they're speaking too lowly for Ares to untangle them enough to comprehend. He just hopes that this signal stays intact with the storm. If it doesn't...

"Clarke, is my son with you?"

The dropship's atmosphere turns heavy. Ares swallows, looking anywhere but Clarke when she replies thickly, "I'm so sorry. Wells is—" She pauses, voice catching as she steels herself enough to continue. "Wells is dead."

A heavy quiet that is only ruptured by the wind that rattles the ship. There's no response for a few minutes, and Ares almost starts to think they've lost contact when Abby says, "I'm gonna talk you through it step by step. Clarke, give five — Medical — Med—"

Her voice begins to cut in and out through the thunder. Raven adjusts the position of the radio when it cuts to static, but it's like her voice is lost.

"What?" Clarke asks. "Raven, Ortega, what's wrong?"

"The storm's causing interference," Ares answers over the whistling of the wind, which seems to be growing louder.

Raven abruptly stands, yanking off her headset and all but throwing it into his lap. "I can't sit here anymore. Try to get a connection again." She turns around to face the front of the dropship. "Clarke, need any help?"

"See if you can find a suture needle somewhere– I'll need it for stitches."

Raven disappears into the crowd of people. Ares puffs out his cheeks, slipping the headset over his ears and adjusting the microphone so it's near his mouth. The radio's blinking red light seems to taunt him as he slides into Raven's chair.

"Abby Griffin, this is Ares Ortega," he says, wincing at his own words. It's probably not what she'd like to hear. After all, she had voted to lock him up for the rest of his life. "Can you hear me? The storm made us disconnect."

The static is louder coming from the headphones than it had been from the speakers. He can hear every crackle, the sounds of the storm slightly muted.

Two familiar figures approach him on his right. Ares doesn't acknowledge them, but Nate still asks, "Any luck?"

"It's going great, actually," Ares responds sarcastically. "Jaha and I had a nice, long chat about the meaning of life, and then I told him to go fuck himself."

He glances up to see Nate raising an eyebrow. His friend asks, "What really happened, Res?"

Ares sighs. "We got connected, but this stupid storm cut off the signal. I've been trying to get it back."

Kiernan crosses his arms over his chest and twists his mouth to the side. Both he and Nate had also shed their jackets in favor of the t-shirts under their second layers. Nate's is black, so it appears clean, but Kiernan's gray shirt is practically soaked with sweat and rainwater that has yet to dry. The humidity in the dropship makes that difficult. That's probably why his blond hair is dark brown where it's plastered to his face and temples, and Nate has even taken off his dumb hat.

Ares winces when his head pulses with pain. His hands fly up to massage his temples, but nothing helps alleviate the pressure building in his skull. He wonders if it's the storm's work. He remembers reading about headaches caused by humidity or rain— where the heaviness of the atmosphere used to cause people pain.

"Hey, man," Kiernan says, straightening up when he notices his grimace. "You okay?"

Ares curses and lets his hands drop to his sides with a smack. Then, in a moment of sheer impulsive stupidity, he reaches across the metal desk and grabs the radio, smacking it and punching it to no avail.

"Uh," Nate cuts in, eyebrows raised in surprise and alarm at his outburst. He has to speak over the sounds of him abusing the machinery. "Res? I don't think that's gonna help."

"It's better than nothing!" Ares exclaims, ripping off the headset. Instantly, the sound of static cuts off and the miscellaneous noises of the dropship become much louder. He's distantly aware of Raven discovering the suture needle for Clarke. Not even the storm can bother him anymore when his mind is racing like this. "Look, we need Collins, okay? If he dies and we don't have his tracking skills, we're done for, and that's a fact."

"I know, but you're trying your best," Nate says, clapping a hand onto Ares' tense shoulder. He has half a mind to throw it off because the motion had sent a stab of pain through his skull, but he's also too exhausted to make the move.

"'My best' isn't doing shit to save him."

"Well, you got the radio working, didn't you?" Kiernan points out with a motion to the god-forsaken thing. "It would be working fine if it wasn't for the storm. It's nobody's fault— we can't control the weather."

Ares can't help but feel like the Earth has betrayed him.

"Hey, they're back!" a girl's voice announces.

Ares turns around. A moment later, Blake emerges through the cream-and-red-colored canvas at the front of the dropship, flanked by several other boys and a familiar man between them. The group unceremoniously dumps the Grounder onto the floor. He's passed out with a blindfold and gag on him, bald head still hosting a gash from their rescue mission for Octavia.

The younger Blake pauses from her position on the ladder leading to the second level. Her hair is soaked, meaning she must have just come inside, and her sharp features become filled with rage in an instant. She jumps down to the floor. "Bellamy, what the hell are you doing?"

"It's time to get some answers," Blake responds. He, too, is soaked to the bone, black hair stuck to his face and clothes turned completely dark from the heavy rain. It drips onto the metal floor and increases the moisture in the air.

"Oh, you mean revenge?" Octavia snaps back.

"I mean intel." Her brother nods to the other boys. "Get him upstairs."

Clarke steps forward, a bloody cloth in her hand. "Bellamy, she's right."

Just then, Abby's voice blares through the speakers, saving them all. "Clarke, honey, we're ready."

Ares whirls toward the radio. Instead of a blinking red, the light on the interface is stable, causing him to turn to Nate and wink. "Guess beating the shit out of it worked."

"Can you hear me?"

Clarke hesitates. Ares decides to respond, slipping the headset back on. "We hear you. This is Ares Ortega. Hang on a minute."

A pause. "Ares?"

"Yeah, unfortunately." He glances at Clarke and gives her a look that says, When you're ready.

The blonde girl turns back toward Blake with desperation in her eyes. "Look, this is not who we are."

A flash of lightning that's closely followed by thunder. Blake's jaw is set, rage in his eyes.

"It is now."

___________

a/n:

okay, so i know i said that this would be the chapter where ares goes sicko mode, but this was the best place to split the chapter so it wouldn't be too much dialogue and sound bad and wordy, if that makes sense. it will be the next chapter! i feel so bad about it because i was so excited to write it, but this chapter is already 4k words and i'm eight minutes into 1x07.

EIGHT. MINUTES.

on another note, if you guys have pinterest, you should check out the board for this fanfic! it features sections for your faves ares and kiernan as well as dynamics such as orteyes (official ship name!!), nares, kieres, and bellares. the link to my account is in my bio, or my username is stilestastic (:

second note: if you guys notice any off spacing between paragraphs, could you please let me know? google docs ruined the formatting and i tried to catch it all, but i have a migraine and i wanted to get this up anyway.

third note: i wanted to inform you guys that this chapter isn't ares being soft or a good person. he genuinely does not care about finn— especially since he's a proven cheater and is still actively pursuing clarke. he only wants to save him because he considers him a valuable asset to their group. if finn wasn't a good tracker, ares would probably use minimal effort to keep him alive.

—kristyn

( word count: 4.0k )