• •

CHAPTER TWENTY TWO;

ON TOP OF THE FUCKING WORLD!

• •

        UNITY DAY WAS NOTHING BUT A SHAM. At least, that was Haven's interpretation of it. Once upon a time, the world was engulfed in flames, ravaged by nuclear warfare. Amidst the chaos, twelve space stations remained operational, orbiting the Earth separately for years. Then, one fateful day, Mir station and Shenzen station joined forces, recognizing that survival in space would be far easier together than alone. Not wanting to be left behind, the remaining ten stations followed suit, uniting with Mir and Shenzen to form the Ark and commemorate Unity Day.

        It was a seemingly beautiful union–except for the cataclysmic destruction of the thirteenth station.

        Polaris.

        The name of the bygone station echoed in Haven's mind, a symbol of defiance against the unity preached by the Council. Its story was a whispered secret, hidden from the official narratives taught within the Ark's education system. Polaris existed on the fringe of memory, almost forgotten by the inhabitants of the Ark entirely. But for Haven, it held significance beyond its mere name. She only knew of Polaris through her mother–whose lineage could be traced back to it.

        Silas Smith wasn't just any name in Haven's family lore; he was a legend. Celebrated as the greatest engineer to grace the cosmos, his legacy resonated through the ages, woven into the tapestry of Dahlia's stories passed down from her own mother. Though the intricacies surrounding Polaris's divergence from the other stations remained veiled in secrecy, one truth remained: Silas was determined to secure a future for his daughter, even at the cost of his own life.

So–he took a spacewalk.

With his newborn.

Clutching the baby–who would later become Haven's grandmother–cradled in his spacesuit, Silas embarked on a perilous journey through the vast expanse of space, leaving his wife behind on the doomed Polaris. Despite his fear, he persisted until reaching Alpha station's loading dock, ensuring his daughter's safety just moments before Polaris met its catastrophic end. The refusal to unite sealed their fate, culminating in a tragic loss of life as Alpha's destructive force obliterated them from the galaxy.

Silas died amidst the collateral debris.

        Since then, the legend lived on throughout the Smith bloodline. That's what Haven remembered about Unity Day; not the togetherness forged amongst the cosmos, but the lives that were stolen and the sacrifices made. Despite the tragedy, the resilience of the Smith lineage endured, passing down through generations until it reached Haven herself.

        "My friends, this is a historic Unity Day."

Haven fought the urge to grimace as she returned back to her body. She stood among a small crowd, positioned at the forefront, watching intently as Jaha's Unity Day address played out on the flickering monitor before them. To her left stood Raven, while Miller stood to her right. Surrounding them were clusters of annoyed teenagers, their eyes fixed on the screen as they absorbed every word of Jaha's spiel.

"Every year, we mark the moment our ancestors of the twelve stations joined to form the Ark, but this is the last time we do so while aboard her. Next year...on the ground."

Thunderous applause crackled through the screen from the citizens among the stars. Meanwhile, those on Earth could only watch with a bitter sense of resentment. Majority of the teenagers scoffed at the display, rolling their eyes in contempt as they turned away and strode off.

"Right," Miller huffed, gesturing to the crowd surrounding him with a sweep of his hand, "After we did all the work."

        Haven raised a brow. "What did you do, exactly?" she asked, unable to resist her smirk as Miller narrowed his eyes. "Last time I checked, Raven and I dragged the monitor outta the comms tent. You were too busy picking your nose."

        "I was not picking my–!" Miller began, his protest cut short by a sharp intake of breath. After a moment of composed breathing, he relented, shoulders slumping in defeat. "Whatever. Someone shut him up."

This time, it was Raven who interjected, her hand resting firmly on her hip while her eyes remained fixed on the screen. "You shut up, Miller. No one's forcing you to watch."

        "She's got you there," Haven teased, delivering a playful nudge into Miller's side, accompanied by a mischievous grin. Miller swiftly retaliated with a nudge of his own, a touch more forceful, his grin widening in spite of his attempt to maintain composure.

        "For ninety-seven years, we have eked out an existence, hoping that someday–our descendants would return to Earth"

Growing increasingly bored of listening to Jaha's incessant bullshit, Haven shifted her sights elsewhere. Her eyes briefly grazed over Finn and Clarke, deep in conversation by the dropship, before finally settling on Raven–who was already fixated on them.

        Yikes!

        Whether they welcomed it or not, Clarke and Raven had unwittingly become reflections of each other, particularly in the eyes of Finn Collins. Raven embodied all that had come before, while Clarke represented the possibility of what could be. Their postures stiffened as they exchanged resigned glances, silently acknowledging the weight of their intertwined destinies. Then, they wordlessly excused themselves–each retreating to opposite ends of the camp.

Finn stood in place. Naturally.

        Haven sent him a barbed glare over her shoulder–one that made him shudder–before swiftly jogging to catch up with Raven. They paused at the entrance of the newly constructed ammunition tent, but just as Raven moved to enter, Haven blocked her path with a gentle hand.

        "Birdy–"

        "Don't wanna talk about it, so don't ask," Raven declared, intentionally averting Haven's gaze and instead focusing on the splotch of indigo taking shape on her friend's cheekbone. "You gonna tell me what that bruise is from now?"

        "Do I have to?"

        "Do you want to?"

        Honestly–Haven would rather bang her head against the dropship repeatedly than discuss the atrocities of the day before; it was as if something inside her was decaying at the mere thought of it. With a vehement shake of her head, she sank her teeth into her bottom lip.

       "Fine," Raven countered, the weight of her stare revealing with absolute certainty that she wouldn't relent so easily. Innocently, she tilted her head. "I guess you'd rather tell me about Bellamy, then? "

        Well–fuck.

        "Of course you saw that," Haven couldn't stifle her defeat even if she tried. She had, in fact, practically launched herself into Bellamy's arms last night–but given the circumstances, it was...understandable. "Look, I–"

        "You don't have to explain–yet. You have a choice, remember?" Raven interjected, her raised brows betraying a hint of knowing amusement, confident that she had employed the perfect tactic to coax her best friend into opening up. "So? What's it gonna be?"

        Despite the irritation surfacing from feeling cornered, Haven also couldn't help but feel a twinge of nostalgia. As children, Raven had an innate knack for snuffing out Haven's innermost thoughts and feelings. Her tenacity had always outmatched her Haven's, if that were even possible. So–eventually, it had become second nature for her to confide in the Reyes girl without needing to be prodded.

Now–five years of baggage loomed between them.

Haven could practically feel the excruciating weight of all she needed to confide in her best friend, a backlog of stories and turmoil begging to be shared, to be heard. While this certainly wasn't the ideal circumstance for starting such a conversation, she understood the pressing need to begin somewhere. Waiting for the perfect moment felt futile; in a world as cruel and unpredictable as theirs–delaying the sharing of at least one truth was a risk she couldn't afford to take.

"Fine," Haven conceded, resisting the temptation to roll her eyes as Raven broke into a smug smile. "When Bellamy and I went to the depot yesterday, we got into a fight with another teenager. Long story short, someone on the Ark offered him a deal to kill Bellamy." She released a shaky exhale. "It was the same person who arranged for Bellamy to shoot Jaha."

Raven's smile plummeted to an abyss, her dark brows furrowing as she comprehended the depth of the situation. "He was trying to clean house."

"Yeah," Haven nodded solemnly, digging her nails into her palms with such force that she feared she might rupture her stitches. "That's where I got the bruise from. He tried to kill Bellamy...and he tried to kill me."

Rage twisted the Reyes girl's features. "Is he alive?"

In a moment of heartrending silence, their gazes locked, bearing a wordless confession that hung thick in the air between them. Haven found herself miserably unable to articulate her thoughts, her throat constricted by the echoes of violence—the sharp slash of a sword, the heavy thud of a body hitting the dirt. She killed him. She killed him. She killed him. She killed...

Raven tugged her into an unflinching embrace.

"Good," she murmured softly against Haven's hair, unwilling to loosen her embrace, unable to comprehend the peril her friend had narrowly escaped. "Whatever happened, happened. Whoever did it...they did the right thing. I'm just–"

"What–?" Haven drew back.

"I'm just happy you're alive." Raven finished, staring into Haven's wide eyes with a knowing intensity, as if daring her to protest. "That's what matters."

Does it?

Unsure of how to respond, Haven nodded. Despite the relentless torrent of guilt and dread ripping apart her organs, her thoughts didn't solely fixate on the fact that she had taken Dax's life. Rather, what troubled her most was the startling absence of remorse—not when the sword had found its mark, not when Dax had crumpled lifeless to the ground. It hadn't been her intention to end his life–but she couldn't allow him to claim Bellamy's, either.

Her only regret was not acting sooner.

And perhaps, that was the most terrifying truth of all.

       "Just...take it easy, okay?" Raven offered Haven a gentle squeeze on her forearm before lifting the tarp of the tent behind them. "If you need me, I'll be making bullets." Slowly, she extended a closed fist to Haven's, their eyes meeting in silent understanding. "Boom?"

Haven bumped her fist with a shaky smile. "Boom."

        "WOOOOOOOOOO–YEAH!" Jasper's jubilant shout pierced through the air, echoing across the camp and stealing the attention of every inhabitant in sight. His enthusiasm was infectious, spreading through the camp like wildfire as teenagers pivoted to see the source of the commotion. "Monty strikes again!"

        Beside herself, Raven snickered.

        "Call this batch Unity Juice!" Jasper shouted, his voice brimming with triumph as he removed his goggles with one hand, while the other gripped an outrageously large keg. With a triumphant flourish, he raised the keg high above his head, its contents sloshing within. "Who's thirsty?"

        All at once, the teenagers erupted into joyous clamors of excitement. Swiftly, they scrambled for cups and flasks scattered nearby, their eagerness propelling them toward Jasper with irresistible force. The surge of their movement nearly knocked Haven flat on her ass, but amidst the whirlwind of activity, she couldn't help but marvel at the infectious energy. Everywhere she looked, there were beamy smiles and outstretched hands eagerly awaiting their share of liquid fire.

        It was almost distracting enough to miss the sight of Octavia Blake slipping through a hole in the wall.

        Almost.

        Perplexed, Haven spun on her heels, her curiosity piqued as she shifted to trail Octavia. However, her pursuit was abruptly halted as she came face to face with Finn fucking Collins. His gaze held a depth of understanding that caught her off guard, and it suddenly dawned on her that he had witnessed Octavia's secretive exit as well–nor did he seem concerned by it.

        Haven knitted her brows. "Where is she–"

        "Probably going after her boyfriend," Finn murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, a careful measure to avoid attracting unwanted attention amidst the surrounding noise. "We kinda helped the Grounder escape last night."

        "Boy...friend?" Haven gaped. "Wait. You've been healed for a day and already did that?"

        Finn leveled her with an incredulous stare. "Is that so hard to believe?" he asked, clearing his throat before casually reverting his eyes back to the sea of teenagers. "Look, she obviously trusts him. He trusts her. That has to count for something, right? Maybe we actually have a shot at peace if we play our cards right here," He inhaled sharply. "I don't want a war, Hav. If she can convince him to talk to his people..."

       Preparing for a war you know nothing of.

       Dahlia's words echoed loud and clear within the recesses of Haven's mind. Despite their reluctance to acknowledge it, the delinquents had been unwittingly gearing up for war all along. The rifle training. The sparring sessions. Every action taken since this morning served as a grim reminder of their imminent confrontation. With the Ark's descent on the horizon and the looming threat of the Guard Unit's arrival, war ceased to be a distant possibility–it became an unavoidable certainty.

Unless...

Haven sighed. "I get it. Our best chance at survival is a treaty or...something. But in the meantime, we can't just twiddle our thumbs and wait. We still need to be prepared," she countered, her eyes darting toward the forest in unease. "Just because Octavia can hold her own doesn't mean she should be forced to play mediator."

        "I'll keep an eye on things," Finn agreed, "Just keep it quiet, alright?"

         "You don't have to tell me twice," Haven groaned, weariness evident in the way she rubbed at her temples, already drained from the politics of the conversation. Then, she arched a sly brow. "Who do you think gave her the green light to free him in the first place?"

Finn smiled.

"Don't look at me like that," Haven warned, her eyes flashing with disdain as she delivered a well-aimed nudge to his side, prompting him to wince involuntarily. "I should be punching your teeth out right now. You're lucky it's Unity Day."

Before Finn could part his lips in protest, Orion swooped in, swiftly whisking Haven away from the boy and tugging her along with purposeful strides.

"Nope! Nope! Outta my way!" Orion barked, effortlessly parting the crowd as she led Haven through the maze of people. After a series of twists and turns, they reached the front, coming to an abrupt stop before Jasper with a cheeky grin. "Me first!"

Jasper's eyes darted from the portion of moonshine in his grasp to Orion's outstretched hand, uncertainty flickering across his features. With a grimace, he began. "Uh-"

"Pretty sure you owe her that, Jas," Haven remarked, poorly suppressing a laugh as Jasper's frown deepened. "She's earned it ever since the search party. Remember?"

       "Damn right I earned it!" Orion echoed in agreement. She reached her hand towards the canister in Jasper's grasp and tugged–her nostrils flaring in frustration when Jasper refused to let go. "Stop being so stingy. Y'know, I could steal your Anti-Grounder stick again–"

Jasper relented at once. "Fine! Fine!" he groaned, begrudgingly handing over the canister to Orion's eager grasp with a pout. But as she guzzled down the majority of the moonshine in a mere three seconds, his eyes bulged. "Jeez! You shoulda' grown up with Monty and I on Farm–that's impressive. Don't forget to save some for Haven."

The Smith girl's jaw fell slack. "Me?"

"Uh–yeah!" Jasper's encouragement was laced with an almost absurd level of confidence, undeterred by Haven's skepticism. As she pursed her lips, he promptly rolled his eyes. "Come on, just a tad," he insisted, gesturing to the other flask he held, "You're so high strung all the freakin' time! Drink the juice and let your body get all loosey goosey."

He proceeded to shimmy. Aggressively.

"Loosey goosey," Haven drawled.

        "Fuck yeah! Exactly," Jasper nodded emphatically, his enthusiasm impeccable. He continued to sway to his own internal rhythm, a wide smile gracing his lips; however, it faltered when Haven refused to yield. "Y'know what? Fine! Play hard to get," He shook out his hands. "I really didn't want to do this, but I guess you leave me no choice."

        Orion furrowed her brows, a bemused smirk tugging at the corners of her lips as she observed Jasper apparently engaging in vocal warmups. "The hell are you doing?"

        Haven's eyes widened in horror as she lunged towards the Jordan boy, her hand flailing in a desperate attempt to muffle him, fully aware she was about to endure unparalleled, sonic torture. "Jasper, don't you dare–"

        But, it was too late; like a grenade set loose, Jasper erupted into an earsplitting, catastrophic whine.

"PLEEEEEEEEEAAAAAA–"

         "Shut up! Oh my god–!"

"EEEAAAAASSSSSSEEE–"

Orion clamped her hands over her ears, her eyes wide with urgency. "Take the drink!" she pleaded, gesturing wildly to the flask in Jasper's hands. "Juste pour le faire taire (just to shut him up)! Spit it out for all I care, but please–make it stop! Holy shit–"

"EEEEEEEAAAASSSEE–!"

"Enough! Enough!" Haven shouted, her hand darting to snatch the moonshine flask from Jasper's grasp. She was never one to yield to peer pressure, but the thought of enduring Jasper's incessant whining any longer was unbearable. "One shot, and that's it."

        Jasper froze. "Wait–for real? I was like, ninety percent joking. You don't have to, Hav." He nonchalantly bumped her elbow with his own. "Every lightweight needs their sober buddy after all!"

        Haven stared at the ominous liquid pooling at the bottom of the flask. Its foul and sharp odor practically assaulted her senses, a stark departure from the faint hints of stolen wine she'd occasionally detect on her mother's breath. This certainly wasn't the ideal way she had envisioned taking her first sip of alcohol. Despite Raven and Finn's occasional drunken escapades back on Mecha, she had always maintained her distance, fearing the prospect of inheriting her mother's addictive tendencies.

        Uneasily, her gaze swept across the campsite, meticulously accounting for every delinquent except for Octavia. Amidst the raucous revelry and the heavy scent of alcohol, a foreboding sense of dread gnawed at her core, a solitary burden weighing on her shoulders.  However, it was the sight of the body near the dropship, its shadowy figure stark against the afternoon sky, that plunged her straight to the point of no return.

Dax offered her a friendly wave.

        Fuck it.

Screwing her eyes shut, Haven forced the flask to her lips, seeking solace in the numbing embrace of the liquid within.

• •

"HOW THE HELL DID YOU GET UP THERE?"

        Bellamy Blake stood with his hands planted firmly on his hips, jaw clenched in avid disbelief. His eyes narrowed as they shot upward to the very top of the dropship, where Haven was currently staggering upon the roof. Beneath the sprawling canopy of stars, she moved dazedly, her form outlined by the gentle wash of moonlight seeping through the dense foliage.

        Typically, Bellamy wouldn't have been concerned. Haven wasn't one to act recklessly on her own behalf. For others? Absolutely. But as he watched her unsteady movements, her usual grace replaced by clumsiness, an unnerving knot formed in the pit of his stomach.

       Peering down at him from her towering stance above, Haven furrowed her brows in a cloud of inebriated confusion. "Up where?"

"Fuck," Bellamy groaned. "Are you drunk?"

"No," The Smith girl shook her head vehemently, her lips pursing into a pout in offense at the implication. She couldn't fathom how he could even ask such a question–she certainly wasn't drunk; if she were, she surely wouldn't have remembered her own damn name. "I'm Haven, duh!"

        Bellamy drew in the sharpest of breaths, sweeping a hand over his face in evident distress. He knew Haven had never been intoxicated before, and now, for her first time–she had somehow managed to scale the top of the fucking dropship. His eyes swiftly scanned their surroundings, ruling out any conceivable routes she could have taken to reach the summit. There was no external ladder, and the internal one only extended to the third floor.

        Then, it hit him.

       "Did you...did you climb the tree?"

        "Maaaybe! Maybe not!" Haven's words slurred with mischief, dizzily attempting to decipher Bellamy's expression from a distance. Even through the haze of intoxication, she could still discern the deep frown on his face. "Okay–fine! I did! But in my defense, it was reaaally easy. I felt like a..." She gasped dramatically. "I felt like a goose!"

The Blake boy could hardly hear her over the howl of anxiety in his eardrums. With hurried strides, he closed the distance to the tree's base, his grip unsteady as he grappled for purchase on the gnarled bark. "You mean an owl?"

"Yes!" Haven shouted, the sharpness of her excitement nearly causing her to lose her footing near the precarious edge. Unparalleled terror surged through Bellamy as he watched her arms flail. "My owl! Did you know that I named him Horny? At least, I think he's a he. Maybe a she? They? Who knows," she rambled on, oblivious to the danger she had narrowly avoided. "Not my business!"

There was a beat.

"Do you think I can fly?"

"NO!" Bellamy commanded, urgency propelling him up the tree with a borderline supernatural speed. Despite the sting of splinters digging into his skin, the need to haul her away from the edge was visceral. "Just...stay there, okay?"

        Haven nodded vigorously. "Staying! Totally staying," she hummed, shifting her weight to gingerly sit at the edge of the dropship instead of attempting to stand. With each movement, her muscles felt like jelly, barely holding her upright as she dangled her legs over the expanse below. "This is the most I've ever stayed in my life."

        Eventually, Bellamy conquered the remaining length of the tree trunk, deftly maneuvering his body to vault onto the roof. Without hesitation, he delicately steered Haven away from the precipice, his heart sputtering as he fully grasped the staggering altitude they had reached.

How the hell did she make it this far?

"I can't believe you climbed that," he breathed, his voice laden with genuine astonishment as he settled beside her. They reclined against the sturdy support of a solar panel, positioned at a comfortable distance from the edge while still able to soak in the vibrant energy of the festivities below. "I can hardly do it sober."

"Bellamy Blake doubting me? Ruuude," Haven rolled her eyes before fixing him with an incredulous stare. "Don't know you I'm a vampire? I've got like, crazy skills."

Bellamy stifled his laughter with a grin. "You're not a vampire, Haven," he reassured her gently, tilting his head towards her as she delivered an immediate smack to his chest. "What? Vampires are supposed to be decrepit–and ugly."

Haven gasped–a loud, almost theatrical intake of breath–the swift influx of oxygen rattling the bones in her ribcage and startling Bellamy half to death. "Does that mean you think I'm pretty?"

Amidst the relentless whirlwind of the day, Bellamy found himself spread into a thousand different directions, each tug demanding his full attention. From rifle training on one side of the camp to her meticulous oversight of hand-to-hand combat practice on the other, their paths had diverged. It bothered him more than usual today–strangely. Despite stealing fleeting glances throughout the chaos, it wasn't until this quiet moment that he could finally drink in her presence up close, every detail illuminated by the soft glow of twilight.

"I think you're beautiful."

        "Good. Because I think you're pretty too," Haven beamed, her eyes alight with tipsy sincerity as she reached out to pinch his left cheek. The warmth of her touch lingered on his skin as she continued, "The most pretty. Like a prince!"

        The Blake boy couldn't fathom what good deeds he had done that granted him the privilege of hearing Haven's laughter, of witnessing her smile. He had screwed up far more than the average human being, an excruciating weight he would carry until his dying breath. Yet, amidst the turmoil of his existence, the mellifluous sound emerging from the girl beside him whispered a tantalizing possibility—that perhaps, against all odds, he had managed to do something right.

        A torturous heat crept up his neck, blossoming into a flush of warmth on his cheeks at her words. "How much have you had to drink?"

        "Not a lot," Haven answered. Shifting her legs, she held her knees close to her chest, attempting to stave off the cold that seemed to seep into her bones despite the warmth of Jasper's jacket. "You know I don't drink! That's why I only had half a flask."

        Bellamy paled. "Half?"

        "What–should I have had it all?"

"No. Definitely not all of it," Bellamy insisted, unable to dismiss the whirring thoughts beneath his skull. More specifically–starting with why the hell she had even reached for the flask in the first place. Not that it was wrong, she deserved to partake in the celebrations and unwind. Still, he couldn't shake the fact that it was oddly unlike her. "I...did you want to drink?"

        Haven's smile trembled slightly, her glossy eyes betraying the strain of maintaining it. "Um–yeah! I'm just really tired of seeing Dax everywhere. He's being a total buzzkill," she groaned, continuing to grin in spite of the rapid thud of her heart. "Now I don't see him anymore. Problem solved!"

Something within the confines of Bellamy's ribs underwent a debilitating shift. He was intimately familiar with Haven's tendency to feel everything in extremes–so her battle to cope after the trauma of the previous day didn't entirely catch him off guard.

        But hallucinating?

        The mere thought of her enduring such torment, especially if it could have been prevented, tore at his conscience in the most devastating way possible. He felt abhorrently responsible for not taking out Dax sooner. And now, to complicate matters further, Haven was plastered. Navigating a conversation under these circumstances was bound to be a delicate balancing act.

        Bellamy released a measured breath. "Well, if you do see him again–come find me. I can handle him."

        Beside herself, Haven burst out laughing. "I'm sorry," she wheezed between fits of breathless giggles, her attempts to restrain the mirth proving futile. Despite her desperate struggles to regain composure, she miserably fought a losing battle, her laughter only intensifying until tears bled down her cheeks. "I'm sorry! It's just–that's exactly what you said after I killed him."

        Then, she was sobbing.

        Bellamy reached for her without thought.

        "Oh my god,"  Haven exclaimed, wiping at the tears streaming from her eyelids with drunken dismay. Tremors ran through her body as she fought to choke out her next sentence. "My eyes are peeing! Don't look–please! This is so humiliating."

        "Haven," Bellamy lulled.

        "I said don't look!"

        "Haven."

        Unable to resist any longer, Bellamy gently lifted Haven's chin, his thumb resting softly in the center and his pointer finger beneath her jaw, guiding her to face him. Despite her feeble attempts to swat his hand away, he persisted, delicately wiping at the tears staining her cheeks.

        "That is a total biohazard," she warbled.

        "I don't care," Bellamy offered her a reassuring nod. "Let's just...take a breath, okay? Can you do that for me?"

        With a reluctant sniffle, Haven yielded to Bellamy's guidance, finding solace in the rhythm of her controlled breaths. His presence made it effortless to follow his lead. And with her chin cradled in his palms, she couldn't help but wonder what else she might've done–had he simply asked.

        Bellamy lowered his hand back into his lap, content that her breathing had resumed its usual rhythm. "Do you wanna talk more about it?"

        "What? That I'm going fucking crazy?" Haven deadpanned, the stark reality of her headspace sobering her with a cruel reality. "Don't know what else I can say. I just..." Another sniffle punctuated her words. "I feel icky inside."

"I get that," Bellamy answered softly, though the depth of his understanding could have shaken entire galaxies. "Is it only because of...him?"

"Besides everything else–yeah. Plus the moonshine," Haven wrinkled her nose in distaste at the memory of the foul liquid. Then, an awful thought struck her, prompting her eyes to widen with dread. "If I throw up, will you promise not to look? And to hold my hair back?"

Bellamy couldn't dismiss the smile tugging at his lips even if he tried. "Promise, angel. Here, take this instead," he suggested, swiftly offering her the water canteen secured to his belt loop. "Maybe it'll help with the icky-ness."

The Smith girl lifted the canteen to her lips, the water providing a fleeting moment of relief as she took measured sips. "I think I only feel gross because I don't feel guilty about it," she admitted quietly. "Like, I feel bad about not feeling bad. But I also know that I should. I-I took his life." Tears threatened to spill from her eyes once more, but she held them back with a forceful blink. "It just...it didn't matter to me once I knew he was going to kill you. I didn't even hesitate. Does that...am I..."

"No," Bellamy's interjection was laden with conviction. Over his dead body would he let Haven doubt her decisiveness, her intuition. Still–he observed her with grief-stricken eyes, recognizing the shadow creeping over her features with devastating familiarity. "I wouldn't have hesitated, either."

Haven shook her head. "I doubt that. You think you're a monster."

"Maybe," Bellamy shrugged, his words imbued with a tenderness so sincere that it almost made her believe him. "You saved my life, Haven. I don't feel bad about trying to save yours, either."

With trembling hands, Haven hastily drank another gulp of water. Contemplating the fragility of life and the weight of morality felt like balancing on the edge of a precipice, with vertigo threatening to pull her under. It was impossible to keep herself upright anymore. Eventually, she surrendered to gravity, letting her dizzy head rest against Bellamy's shoulder for support.

"Ugh," she groaned, squeezing her eyes shut in a futile attempt to block out the overwhelming world around her. "Monty really needs to get to work on programming me that off-switch for my brain."

"An off-switch?"

Haven released a weary sigh upon reopening her eyes. "Yeah. I just feel so...sad. All of the time. Not thinking would be pretty nice." Her gaze drifted from the mesmerizing swirl of stars above to the sturdy silhouette of the nearby trees. "Abby says I'm cured, but somehow–this feels worse."

Bellamy went rigid.

"She said that?"

        "Yep," Haven confirmed with a nod, sinking further against his shoulder as fatigue began to burden her eyelids. "She also said that's why everybody decided to distance themselves. Didn't wanna blow our cover after the other guard noticed what was going on that day."

        Bellamy took a moment to formulate the proper response to that. "Noticed what?"

        "My heart failing. The surgery taking longer than it was supposed to–duh." Haven retorted, her tone edged with disbelief at Bellamy's forgetfulness about the events of that fateful day. Even she could remember it–despite the current mushiness of her brain. "Who was the guard, anyway? Y'know, I bet it was fuckin' Shumway."

Silence loomed between them.

"Look, Haven..." Bellamy began, treading carefully as he readied himself to broach the unspeakable. "That wasn't–"

"Wasn't what–fair?" Haven cut in, a hollow laugh escaping her lips, devoid of the usual mirth brought on by the moonshine. "Trust me, I know. Imagine how I felt when I woke up to everybody gone. I was super alone. Nobody was there anymore," Then, her voice fell quiet. "Not even you."

It was in that moment that Bellamy swore he could feel his heart seize in his chest. The turmoil of that day was etched into his mind with a cruel awareness, one that he carried with him like a second skin. Endlessly. Relentlessly. But it was the relentless grip of guilt that truly threatened to tear him apart, its crushing force akin to a cataclysm capable of decimating the world all over again.

        She didn't remember.

        "I'm sorry," Bellamy admitted, his voice tender with remorse as he observed Haven leaning against his shoulder. He yearned to draw her nearer, to clutch her tighter–but she didn't dare meet his eyes. "I'm so sorry, Haven."

        "It is what it is," she answered, her voice calm and resigned, devoid of any lingering resentment. Her bleary gaze drifted to the distant figures of the celebrating teenagers below as she fought against the tide of exhaustion. "Don't suppose you're gonna tell me where you went, are you?"

Bellamy would tell her everything right then and there–he was certain of it. Despite his numerous attempts during their rare moments of respite, each time he tried to speak, his tongue felt heavy with dread, his words disintegrating into ash before they could breach his lips—like he was choking on smoke, suffocated by the weight of his own silence. And now, as he stood teetering on the precipice of confession, Haven's intoxication stood as an impenetrable barrier. He felt stranded in the depths of his secrets, yearning for the catharsis of honesty yet terrified of the consequences it might bring.

"I wish you were sober," he whispered.

By the time he dipped his head to catch her reaction–Haven had already succumbed to sleep, nestled against his torso, lost in the embrace of a drunken dream.

• •

HAVEN WAS NEVER DRINKING ALCOHOL AGAIN. More specifically, Monty's moonshine. Never again would she even entertain the thought of touching that cursed flask, not for all the riches in the world. Not even if her life depended on it. Her head throbbed as if it had been tossed into a blender and then haphazardly squeezed back into her skull.

Never again. Never. Ever.

Upon waking up from her liquor induced nap, she was soberly startled to find herself curled beside Bellamy's chest. The warmth of his body provided a stark contrast to the chilly air, sending a jolt of awareness through her groggy mind. Yet, before she could fully comprehend their intimate proximity, her attention had been abruptly hijacked by the sight around her.

They were on top of the damn dropship.

Initially, Haven had nearly yelped in terror–because what the fuck? She was horrified of heights. But as the initial shock subsided, her bewilderment only deepened when Bellamy recounted the absurdity of her drunken escapade: scaling the tree to its very summit and then boldly leaping onto the dropship roof, all while firmly convinced she was some kind of owl.

Unable to process the absurdity of the past few hours, Haven had felt her stomach revolt, and before she knew it, she retched—right over the ledge of the roof. Without hesitation, Bellamy had hurried to her side, holding her hair back as she emptied her stomach. And thankfully, he averted his gaze as well.

Then came the task of climbing down.

While Bellamy contemplated the best method of descent, Haven thought to work smarter, not harder. After scouring the roof, she stumbled upon a small hatch that led to the third floor of the dropship below. With sizable effort, she managed to wriggle her way through, narrowly avoiding getting stuck at her hips, before finally landing on her feet below.

Bellamy, on the other hand, was simply too massive to fit through.

So–Haven had wished him luck, flashing him a mischievous grin as he peered down at her through the hatch. He merely rolled his eyes before they each set off on their separate descents–Bellamy braving the tree, while Haven opted for the internal ladder. After their respective journeys, they reunited on the ground, only to find themselves face to face with Clarke.

"Hey," Clarke began, settling in front of the pair with her brows knit. Something about her demeanor seemed far more tense than usual—almost on edge. "I need to talk to you guys."

        Bellamy smirked. "Having fun yet, princess?"

        "I'm serious."

        "You always are," Bellamy agreed, tilting his head towards a quieter corner of the camp where the laughter of inebriated teenagers didn't reach. With a silent gesture, he invited both girls to follow him. "So talk."

Clarke forced herself to inhale, her eyes flickering between the expectant pair before her with hesitant uncertainty. As she studied them, she couldn't help but notice the strange synchronicity in their movements—the subtle cues exchanged between Haven's furrowed brow and Bellamy's clenched jaw, or his twitching fingers prompting her to crack her knuckles. It was almost mesmerizing how seamlessly they mirrored each other's gestures. Yet, despite the distraction, Clarke braced herself to disclose the news.

"Finn set up a meeting with the Grounders."

Haven paled. "Holy fuck."

"I'm leaving to go talk to them." Clarke continued, relaying the reality of the situation with a near wince.

Haven paled further. "Holy fuck."

Out of all the things Clarke could've admitted–that was the absolute last thing Haven anticipated hearing. Immediately, her brain soared into overdrive. If Finn managed to set up a meeting with the Grounders, it meant he had located Octavia in the woods, inevitably encountering the Grounder as well. And considering that Finn returned unscathed–it also meant that the Grounder posed no threat.

He was helping them.

Meanwhile, Bellamy could hardly contain his outrage. "Because you think that impaling people on spears is code for let's be friends?" he retorted sharply, the nearby firelight casting fleeting shadows across his stern features. "Have you lost your damn mind?"

        "I think it might be worth a shot," Clarke shrugged, determined not to buckle beneath the intensity of Bellamy's glare. Instinctively, her eyes sought out Haven's, wordlessly appealing for backup. "I mean, we do have to live with these people."

        Haven grimaced. "She's got a point," admitted, acutely aware of Bellamy's piercing gaze now fixed upon her instead. "Look, I don't like it either. But if we want to save these kids' lives, we've gotta try every option."

        Bellamy studied Haven for what felt like an eternity. He couldn't shake the observation that whenever she spoke of survival, she always omitted herself from the equation. These kids. Those kids. Making it out alive seemingly applied to everybody else in camp except for her. It was infuriating, and as his gaze flitted to Clarke, his exasperation only intensified.

        "You're serious." He deadpanned, his tone flat and indignant. With Clarke's silence confirming her intent, he shook his head in wild disbelief. "They'll probably gut you and string you up as a warning."

        "Well, that's why I'm here. I need you guys to be our backup." Clarke began, lowering her voice to a nearly inaudible hush as the duo leaned in closer. "Bellamy–you'd track us from behind. I'm thinking of leaving a trail of jobi nuts to follow." Her gaze then shifted to Haven. "You'll be with me and Finn, up close."

"Deal."

        "Absolutely not."

Together, Haven and Bellamy shared a sidelong glance, a silent exchange passing between them. While answering in unison wasn't particularly uncommon among the two, the divergence in their responses was disturbingly offputting–for the both of them.

        Taking advantage of the charged silence, Haven was the first to speak. "I'm in."

        "Of course you are," Bellamy snarled. "This is suicide–"

        "Everything we do is suicide," Haven fired back, crossing her arms over her chest defiantly as Bellamy flexed his jaw. The celestial warmth that had embraced them just moments before rapidly morphed into a raging inferno. "We have to give it a fair chance. If it blows up in our faces, you can say I told you so."

        Bellamy's eyes darkened into pits of smoldering hellfire. "That's assuming you'll still be alive."

        "Enough," Clarke interjected, her voice rising ever so slightly to quell the impending clash. As tension crackled amidst the pair before her, it dawned on her where the Blake boy's concerns truly lay. "Bellamy, I've seen her in action," she stated assuredly, "She's good with a knife. She broke up every fight Murphy was involved in. She's the reason Finn survived in the first place."

        Haven stiffened. "What are you talking about?"

        "Finn said you tried to deflect the Grounder's knife...back in the cave," Clarke shifted uncomfortably on her heels at the recollection of that fateful day. "If you hadn't stuck your arm out, it would've struck his heart. He might've gotten stabbed–but you still saved his life."

       No matter how hard Haven sought to understand Clarke's interpretation of their time in the cave–she simply couldn't fathom it. How could Haven possibly have saved Finn's life when she had failed him so miserably? She wasn't fast enough; her feeble attempt to intervene was far too little, far too late. Clarke, Octavia, Bellamy, Raven–they were the ones who deserved recognition for prying Finn from the jaws of death.

        Certainly not her.

        "You know what's better than a knife?" Bellamy hissed, the venomous edge in his voice jolting Haven from her thoughts. Each step he took toward Clarke seemed to reverberate with simmering fury, as if the very ground beneath him echoed his disdain. "A bullet. Don't drag her to the front lines just because you know she'll put your life before her own."

       Clarke shook her head. "That is not what I meant."

        "Isn't it?" Bellamy seethed.

"No," Clarke sighed, her blue eyes carrying the burden of innumerable decisions made under pressure. She brushed off Bellamy's hostility with a tired glance before directing her attention to Haven. "I need you with us because you're talented. I trust you. If something goes wrong..." Her breath hitched. "They won't see you coming."

Finally able to interject, Haven leveled Bellamy's death glare with a smirk. "You hear that? It makes sense," she began, attempting to instill any semblance of reason into his thick skull. "One of the first things you taught me was discretion. If the Grounders see you stomping around with your arms crossed, they'll peg you as a threat."

Bellamy mulled it over with his jaw tight. Who cared if Clarke's reasoning made sense? Not him, especially if it meant endangering their lives yet again, or worse–risking Haven's. However, the looming threat of war cast a dark shadow over their mortality, a danger more pressing than anything else. If this was crucial a step towards coexistence–fine. It didn't mean he had to like it. Truthfully, the mere thought of it all made him want to tear his hair out.

        But as Haven's pleading eyes drilled into his own, Bellamy knew his resistance was doomed from the start.

        With a grunt, he asked, "Does Finn know about this?"

        "Finn doesn't need to know," Clarke declared, her voice carrying a conviction that nearly startled the duo before her. "We have to leave–now. And Bellamy..." She held his stare for what felt like an insurmountable amount of time, summoning the strength to spit out the words that would change everything. "Bring guns."

        The trio exchanged nods of weighted understanding before preparing to split off. Clarke strode towards the gate with fire beneath her steps, seamlessly weaving through the mob of teenagers without a trace. Haven pivoted to follow her, but her movement was halted by a firm grip on her forearm.

        Bellamy stared at her with an intensity that nearly brought her to her knees.

        For the first time that night, Haven felt as though she could truly see him. The remnants of moonshine no longer danced in her vision, allowing her to perceive him with unprecedented clarity. He emerged from the haze as a sharply defined figure, devoid of the soft, swirling allure that once obscured him. Cuts and bruises adorned his face, remnants of the night before, while the veins in his hands strained as he clenched his fists at his sides.

Yet, in spite of the violence he exuded, something indiscernible flickered across his eyes. Something delicate. And though she couldn't quite grasp its meaning, it stirred a visceral response within her all the same.

Her heart thundered like a tempest.

Silently, Bellamy retrieved her blade from his waistband and tucked it within her palms. He curled her fingers around the weapon, his touch as soft as moonlight, intertwining with hers for a fleeting millisecond before he withdrew.

       "Don't die."

        The pair had never before been faced with the necessity of goodbyes. On Earth, their paths diverged and converged at will, and lately, they had been together more often than not. But now, tasked with separate roles that could ultimately lead to their demise–Bellamy's command was weighted with a dreadful truth.

        Haven smiled weakly. "Wouldn't dream of it."

        Then, she spun on her heels, abandoning the boy in the dirt behind her at an excruciating pace. It required every ounce of her strength to traverse the camp, mechanically dragging one foot in front of the other until she was certain Bellamy was out of sight; he needed to be. Haven refused to look back, knowing that if she caught even a glimpse of him, her resolve would shatter into a thousand tiny pieces.

She wouldn't be able leave without him.

She couldn't bear it.
       

• •
     

HIIIII!!!!!!!

sooo i feel like this chapter is a little bit all over the place but thats ok. unity day is all over the place!! so thats how i'll justify it! next chapter is definitely going to have more structure :)) but i REAAAAAALLLY wanted to include the little fluff scene between bell & haven 🤭 they deserve a little moment before hell descends! lets just say the dropship is ... important in the future😗

i cant believe we are almost at 8k reads now!!! :0 my mind is BLOWN. i am so grateful for everybody who was taken the time to read and support this story. u all mean the WORRRLD to me and more!!

I LOVE U!!!!! SOOOO MUCH