❝when i was drowning, that's when i could finally breathe.❞

-"clean", taylor swift

♛

THE FIRST THING I notice when I sluggishly come to consciousness is the fact that I'm extremely uncomfortable. Then, once I'm able to slowly blink my eyes open and feel the tightness of the cloth gagging me and the handcuffs clamping my wrists behind my back, I think, Oh, that might be why.

My hair hangs in my face, sticking to it from the heat in the room. Even if the door isn't closed, something makes the air stifling so my face and chest shine with sweat. I jerk my neck to get the loose strands away to no avail. I need a haircut.

The next thing I notice is that my arms are bare. My green shirt is the only thing covering my top half, my jacket nowhere to be seen. I'm both upset and relieved that I'm not wearing it— I love that coat, but to have it in this heat would be even more torture. Whoever has done this has shown at least a minimal amount of mercy. Or maybe they just didn't want me to have weapons.

I notice a baby-pink shirt from across the room and see that Harper is also chained and gagged, with Bryan, Monty, and Miller beside her. The dark-skinned boy is standing unlike us, with his front facing the wall and his wrists bound above his head. No matter how hard he tries to pull himself free, the cuffs hold.

I guess that's why they weren't answering the radio.

I turn my head to see Jasper beside me. Octavia is bound like Miller, though she seems to be putting up more of a fight. Her foot connects to the wall in an attempt to pull hard enough to break the restraints. It doesn't seem to be working.

What the hell is going on? If only we weren't gagged and could speak, because then, I'd know.

A horrible grating sound makes me jump. The hallway isn't visible from where I'm sitting, but the sound is getting louder, meaning its source is coming closer. My heart quickens its already erratic pace as the effects of the sedative fully wear off. I can feel every pull of the biting metal holding my arms back, the tightness of it against my already sensitive skin, the discomfort that the gag brings as it digs into my cracked lips, the humid air.

My stomach drops at the sight of him. Carl Emerson, with the remnants of an army green hazmat suit on. His hair is still cut short. Though, instead of the clean-shaven face he'd had in Mount Weather, he now sports a rough goatee on his jawline.

I can feel it. His hands on my back, holding me still as the whir of the drill sends shivers down my spine. The relaxant drug keeping me still. And lastly, the prick of it finally piercing my skin—

"Hello, Fallon," he sneers with a triumphant grin upon noticing that I'm awake. "We meet again."

Unfortunately, I mentally retort. Instead, I just narrow my eyes to slits and force as much heat into the glare as I can muster.

I then notice that he's been carrying Raven this entire time. She's unconscious as well, but the cause is unknown. I immediately note the absence of her jacket; her tank top will keep her relatively cool in here. He unkindly plops her beside me and uses the restraints there to tie back her arms. Oh, God. Her arms. Her left one is out of its sling, meaning—

That bastard.

Once Emerson finishes securing her in place, he steps out again. I glance worriedly at the unresponsive Raven next to me. She's breathing — I can tell by the rise and fall of her chest — but when she wakes, her arm will hurt like a bitch. Especially since it's in such an uncomfortable position and it's already started to bruise where her shoulder had been set.

Unable to do much else, I glance at our surroundings. Although I've never been here myself, I know that this is the airlock. The sealed door at the other end is enough proof of that. Countless people throughout our history have been floated from here, including my father. Not for the first time, I contemplate what it must have been like for him to stand here, waiting to be killed for a crime he didn't commit.

The thought is enough to bring tears to my eyes at the full circle I've come to. On my eighteenth birthday, I would have had another trial so the Council would re-evaluate my case. And then I would have been floated two months ago in this very space.

It still doesn't make sense that we're here of all places. How does Emerson even know his way around? How did he know where to find Arkadia in the first place? The thought unsettles me even more than I already am. My brain begins to ache from how hard my brain is working to make sense of the situation.

Moments later, Emerson's footsteps return. Seven heads turn to watch him carrying Caleb's limp form into the airlock. I glance away as he struggles to both keep the boy on his feet and cuff his hands to the wall next to Harper. It takes him a good five minutes to succeed, and by the time he does, Raven is becoming conscious again.

I can first tell by a soft mumble of confusion from her. Then, her elbow brushes mine, and I turn my head to see her blinking her eyes open slowly but surely. It doesn't take long for her to realize what's going on and she jerks her arms in a futile attempt to free herself. A cry of either pain or distress is muffled by the gag as her eyes survey the room wildly.

We're still three people short. If Raven, Caleb, and Sinclair had been together, then Emerson should be heading back for him, next. However, he merely stands in the center of the airlock with a radio in his hand as if he's expecting a call.

My chest spasms with terror. Where are the others?

As if sensing my thoughts, Clarke's voice comes on the walkie. "Emerson, I know you can hear me. We need to talk."

Slowly, Emerson raises the receiver to his mouth. "I don't need to do anything. You should have killed me when you had the chance."

My head swims with confusion. What is he talking about? Something must have happened recently, but it still doesn't explain why the hell he's here and how he knows Alpha Station so well. There's no way he learned the structure of it in merely two days.

"And now you're here to kill me, is that it?" Clarke questions.

"Something like that," Emerson agrees with a dry chuckle.

"Then let my friends go. Do that and you can have me."

"You're brave, Clarke," the man says wryly, "I'll give you that. They're lucky to have a friend like you." He steps forward and faces the open door with determination. "Come to the airlock. No weapons. Right now."

He waits a minute. There's silence on the other end, static coming from the speaker. Emerson clips the radio back onto his belt.

"Well," he sighs, swiftly unsheathing a short sword and holding it out in front of him, "this will be exciting."

Slowly, his head turns until his eyes lock onto me. God dammit.

I can feel my heart rate increase so much that I'm even warmer than I was before. My body instinctively presses back against the metal wall in an attempt to distance myself as much as I can, but it only causes him to grin as he bends down and lets the light above glint on the rusty blade.

"I'm going to enjoy this," he muses. "Almost as much as I enjoyed when Dr. Haven drilled for your bone marrow."

He's sick. His close proximity to me fills my body with revulsion, and my stomach flips when he grabs me by the middle and forces me as close to the edge of my seat as I can get.

More footsteps. Ice floods my veins, leaving my insides freezing in comparison to my warm skin.

"I held up my part of the deal," Clarke's voice says. I can just barely see her standing not very far from the entrance to the airlock, her hands up in surrender. "Your turn. Let my friends go."

Emerson tilts his head to the side. "Tell Bellamy to show himself first."

Clarke's eyebrows furrow. "I don't know what you're talki—"

Quick as lightning, Emerson bends his arm and jams the hilt of the sword into my side, making me cry out at the sharp pain.

Bellamy rushes from one of the adjacent corridors almost immediately. "No!"

Noticing that he has his rifle out and poised to shoot, Emerson positions himself so most of my body is covering his. The blade rests against my throat. My breathing quickly turns shallow, struggling not to cough from the gag restraining my whimpers of agony. I can hear the rush of blood in my ears.

"Okay," Emerson begins calmly. "Now, take out the clip, throw it down the hall, put the gun on the ground, and get inside." He suddenly shoves me backward, causing me to slam my head against the wall and squeeze my eyes shut at the ache. A cough sputters from my lips as he strides toward Octavia, holding her head back and placing the sword against her neck. "In case you need more motivation."

My throat burns with the coughs I want so desperately to release, but can't due to the fabric in my mouth. Raven's watery eyes assess me in a silent question of my wellbeing. I nod my head, though tears are blurring my vision even more.

I'm not sure when Caleb woke, but now he's putting his foot against the wall in the same way Octavia had been, his hands turning bone-white as he briefly cuts the circulation off. He cranes his neck to the right, twisting his body as much as he can to see Raven. I notice several new scrapes on his face as well as a black eye. His fight with Emerson had apparently been a rough one.

"Please," Clarke pleads. "You wanted me. I'll get inside once you let them go."

"I was talking to Bellamy," Emerson drawls, dragging the sharp point of the blade across Octavia's collarbone and tearing the skin. She gasps as blood drips into her shirt.

"Okay, okay!" Bellamy says, hands raised. "Just stop."

Clarke turns her head to look at him. "Bellamy, don't."

But he ignores her, removing the clip of ammo and taking the strap from his shoulder. He holds them up separately so Emerson can confirm that it's unloaded. Then, he also takes out a dagger and handgun from his belt, showing them before tossing them where he came from.

Slowly, Bellamy walks past Clarke and into the airlock with his hands raised. His eyes flicker from Octavia to me and back again when Emerson speaks.

"Those are yours," he says, jerking his head toward the spare pair of restraints above Raven.

Bellamy obediently steps up and cuffs them around his wrists. I can barely see his face from where I sit, but I can guess that it's a mask of calm. Ever the hero. From Emerson's point of view, it must look like he has nothing to fear.

Emerson pulls out a pistol from his belt and points it toward the blonde. "Get on your knees, Clarke." Once she obeys, he continues, "Put your hands behind your head."

He steadily walks toward her, gun still raised, until he's out of the airlock. My alarmed gaze follows his every movement as he stops by the control pad and presses a button. The glass doors close with a hiss, locking us inside.

My heart jumps into my throat as my arms yank on the handcuffs. God, I want to kill him. I've never hated someone as much as I loathe him. He's been given a second chance by Clarke and now he's wasting it with this. If I could spring free and somehow get out, I'd take that pistol and shoot him without hesitation. Or use that sword and stab him.

"No," Clarke mutters, voice trembling as he circles her so the barrel is aimed at the back of her head. "You can do anything you want with me, okay? Just let them go."

Emerson grabs her by the neck and forces her along with him as he stumbles up to the door. Her face is pressed against it, breath fogging the glass as one of his arms holds her in a chokehold and the other aims the gun at her temple.

"You murdered 381 people," he snarls in her ear. His grip tightens when Clarke attempts to grab his arm, causing her to take a ragged inhale through her mouth. "You took the lives of my children, my brother, my friends. Did you really think that I would be happy with just one life in return?"

I don't remember when I started crying, but now I realize that I can't stop. The tears mix with the sweat already dampening my face, making my skin even warmer and my shirt stick to my stomach and underarms. My breaths are more like hiccups that keep choking me. No matter how desperately I try to move my hair back, it keeps falling into my face.

Clarke gives a yell as Emerson yanks her backward until they're at the control panel. There's a pause during which I can't see what he's doing. Then everything goes red.

"Airlock Five," a man's voice announces on the PA's recording. My head automatically tilts up to examine the deeply-colored hue of the airlock, the red so intense that I can barely look around without hurting my eyes. "Oxygen venting."

There's a loud thud as Caleb's foot kicks the wall hard, his body writhing more desperately than ever. He then gives a strained gasp as the air around us steadily begins to thin. His head swings around, neck craning to keep Raven in his sights.

Emerson presses Clarke back up to the glass, muttering things I can't make out above the buzzing sound and the man's voice repeating itself. Even though my increasing fear makes me want to breathe quickly and hyperventilate, I force myself to take slow breaths to conserve the air.

"Beg me to stop it!" Emerson commands loudly. When Clarke can muster nothing but a grunt, he shoves her more firmly. "I told you to beg!"

I can hear her sobs now. "I'm begging you."

"Louder."

"PLEASE!"

I realize I've never been so sure of my death up until this point. There really isn't a way out of this one, an outcome where Emerson doesn't end up on top. We're truly going to die in here, all of us, with Clarke being forced to watch. Because he's not going to stop even if she shreds her vocal cords from begging to save our lives.

My chest begins to spasm, so I inhale a gasp of thin air. The tears that stream from my eyes are hot and stinging. They only increase once I realize that I can't get in enough oxygen to satisfy my lungs, my heart spiking in terror as it beats desperately, clinging to life. But I can feel it already beginning to slow.

I look up at Bellamy. I still can't see his face, but I notice that his legs are starting to wobble. An involuntary sob escapes me, so the next breath I try to take results only in a hoarse cough.

"Aaron wouldn't want you to do this," Clarke says weakly.

"You don't say his name!" Emerson shrieks, but both of them disappear from the glass before he can threaten her any more.

I exhale in another sputter. My chest is burning so intensely I could be crying just from the pain of it. Beside me, Jasper is still. Raven's chest is barely moving.

My vision starts to darken as I take my last breath. The oxygen level is too low for me from my coughing. I glance up at Bellamy to see his arm twitch, barely a movement, but a movement all the same.

Good, I think. And then, I love you guys.

Then, just as I'm about to welcome the darkness, the airlock doors open. My vision goes black, but I fight to stay conscious enough to suck in the wave of air that comes in. My lungs spasm. The cooling sensation I feel from the relief is indescribable.

My eyelids flutter open. I notice Clarke quickly removing Bellamy's handcuffs first since he's the one without a gag. She then moves onto Raven while he crouches to my level. He carefully lifts the gag from my mouth, untying the knot at the back and discarding the fabric onto the floor carelessly. I allow him to unlock the restraints using a set of keys Clarke had retrieved from Emerson.

Once I'm free, I fling myself into Bellamy's arms. My arms encircle him in a tight embrace. The sobs I let out are not pretty, instead a hoarse, coughing, hiccuping mess that leaves my face horrendously soaked. My chest rattles with the force of them. Bellamy is still coughing; I can tell that he's crying as well from his frequent sniffles.

"Go," I say, voice almost nonexistent as I release him and wipe my nose unattractively. "I'll help you untie the others."

Bellamy heads to help his sister while I move onto Miller. The job is relatively slow since we have to keep guessing which keys to use, and he keeps coughing in my face while I try to unlock his cuffs. Once he's released, he jumps down from his suspended position and lowers his aching arms to his sides with a grimace.

I leave him to tend to his boyfriend. Since Jasper is helping Monty and Clarke has Harper, I turn to Caleb. Only to discover with a horrifying start that he's not moving.

"Give me the keys right now," I order in a hoarse tone. My feet carry me to him as quickly as my unstable legs can carry me, scanning the boy in confusion. I widen my eyes in realization. "Shit. Keys!"

"What?" Raven asks in a panicked voice from behind me.

Caleb's head is tucked into his arm. It must have flopped over when the oxygen gave out, and his face has been blocked the entire time. Heart pounding once again, I push his head up and press two fingers to his neck. I wait. And wait. It's been over three minutes without air.

"No," Raven mutters thickly.

"Keys," Jasper announces, using the remaining one to unlock the handcuffs. I have just enough time to loop my arms around Caleb's middle before his limp figure comes crashing down, saved partially by Bellamy when he helps me set him gently on the floor.

"Give me space," I command as I drop to my knees beside him. My fingers lace together, pumping his heart firmly with my mouth twisted in a scowl. "God dammit, Jones, stop dying on us."

The more I think about it, the more it makes sense. There wouldn't be anything to support his head once he got weak enough from the lack of oxygen. It would have to go to the side. But of course his nose had to be blocked by his arm.

The human body can only last three minutes without air, and after just five minutes, the brain cells start dying. I'm not positive how long it's been. I try not to consider it.

I move my hair out of the way and pull his jaw open, cupping my hands around his mouth and blowing air into his lungs. Once I've done it twice, I lean back and start pumping his chest again. I'm met with the glorious response of a cough mid-pump. The entire room breathes a sigh of relief as Caleb's eyes sluggishly open.

"You just can't stop being dramatic, can you?" Bryan cracks a grin.

Caleb coughs. "Shut up."

—

Our time outside is more somber. My lungs don't stop burning until nearly half an hour has passed, but there isn't much relief beyond that.

Emerson killed Sinclair.

It explains why he didn't try to leave again once Caleb was tied up. It explains why Bellamy and Clarke were alone. But, for some reason, I hadn't been expecting it, and the loss is like a blow to my heart. Japaco Sinclair had been a good man.

Caleb had carried his body out from the garage. Even in the lack of lighting from the dark, night sky, I could see the tears streaming down his cheeks. The Chief Engineer had been like a second father to him, and with his real father probably a casualty in one of the missing sections of the Ark, he had been one of his only remaining family left.

Sinclair is laid on a bed of logs we'd created long ago as we wait for Bellamy to return with Lincoln's body. I glance at Raven, who's standing with her arm back in a sling and her free hand covering her mouth as she silently sobs.

Bellamy returns minutes later with a figure wrapped in a canvas in both arms. Octavia, who'd been gathering tools to put in the Rover, turns at the sound of his footsteps. He slowly makes his way closer before he places the body on the ground. His sister kneels beside it, hands trembling as she unwraps the top to reveal Lincoln's face.

I look away immediately; my lips pinch together to prevent myself from sobbing. It's too much to bear— I've already heard the gunshot in my head again, and seeing the result would be something I could never recover from.

Raven and Caleb walk up to Sinclair's body on the stack of wood. His hands are folded across his chest in a manner so peaceful he could be sleeping, which I suppose is the goal. The two of them gently press a hand to his shoulder and recite, "May we meet again."

Octavia steps forward with a burning torch in her hand. She touches it to the bottom of the wood, saying, "Yu gonplei ste odon."

"Yu gonplei ste odon," the rest of us repeat in murmurs.

There's a moment of silence as the flames catch on, burning a bright orange and filling the air with the scent of smoke. I blink at the embers.

From beside me, Bellamy whispers, "Yu gonplei ste odon."

"It's time to go," Octavia announces, voice thick. "I'll get the map."

That's when the rain begins to come down hard enough for me to realize that it exists. Luckily, the rest of us have retrieved our jackets, so the only part of me that feels the cool water is my head. I tilt my face up toward the sky and close my eyes.

Maybe this is a kind of symbolism I don't understand. Maybe this rain means something. But for now, I let it run on my cheeks and wash away the sweat and tears from the past few days.

Maybe we'll get a better tomorrow.

—

fun fact: i wrote bellamy's perspective for this chapter, which you can find in my fallamy book titled "from the stars"!

cool drinking game: take a shot every time fallon swears in this chapter

this is another part i've had planned basically since i watched the episode, so whoop!!! i'm so glad i finally got to write it. it also means i have just three more episodes to go until i wrap up season 3!

quick question: do you want me to include the flashbacks from the earth skills class on the ark that are in the next episode, or skip them because you all know what happens? adding fallon wouldn't make much of a difference and leaving them out would make the episode go a lot faster, but it's up to you guys what you want to see!

-kristyn