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1. Even with the supplies from Mount Weather and those scavenged from the fallen Ark stations around them, Abby knows that their medical supplies won't last them forever. She mentions it offhand to Lincoln one day, who has taken to sometimes helping her when she's particularly swamped (the air is getting colder every day and the flu is making itself known). She doesn't really expect a response - it's not like he can create anesthesia out of thin air - so she's taken by surprise when he asks if she can take a walk around the camp in an hour or so. She finds herself agreeing, though she finds his request an odd one. She meets him outside of camp an hour later, and he spends the next half hour walking through the woods and patiently explaining the medicinal properties of at least two dozen different plants to her.
2. Marcus catches Lincoln eyeing the soldiers' guns as they practice hitting a red target from thirty feet away. After a moment, he walks over and inclines his head towards the practicing guards.
"You can give it a try, you know."
Lincoln looks uneasily at the soldiers. "I don't think your people would appreciate it if you let me have a gun."
Marcus unhooks the strap of his own gun and hands it to Lincoln, echoes a familiar sentiment that takes Lincoln by surprise for a second time.
"You are my people."
3. "Heda ste pis," Lincoln says to Octavia as she joins him and Bellamy next to the training ground. She resists the urge to roll her eyes because duh, anyone can tell by the rigid way that Abby's holding herself and leaning away from Kane that the two leaders are embroiled in some argument.
“It’s like watching your mom and dad fight.” Raven muses out loud as she comes over to join them, Wick in tow.
“I wouldn’t really know.” Octavia intones dryly.
“Well, what I assume it’d look like to see your mom and dad fight.” Raven amends.
Octavia nods because it seems right. Although Abby looks angry, there’s less heat in her glare and venom in the twist of her mouth than Octavia knows she's capable of. Kane, too, stands loosely in front of her and looks somewhat like he’s biting down an ill-timed smirk. They're too far to hear what exactly is being said, but close enough to see that Abby’s fierce look is being met with one of exasperation mixed with fondness.
Octavia idly wonders if the two even notice they have an audience - they’re so wrapped up in their heated conversation. She’s given a pretty clear indication that they don’t once Abby’s diatribe runs its course. Kane tilts his head and says something that makes her smile, though somewhat begrudgingly, and he takes the opportunity to move his hand to her face and kiss her softly on the lips.
Octavia doesn’t have to look around her to know that the shock she’s feeling is mirrored on the faces of the group standing beside her. It’s not that it’s unexpected, really; even though both Abby and Kane like to play things close to the chest, they haven’t exactly been discreet with their lingering glances or shared smiles. Kane in particular is always letting his hand drift to the small of Abby’s back or skate across her shoulders every time the two of them walk the length of the camp.
So, no, it comes as a surprise to no one really that Kane should kiss Abby in such a way that it’s obvious he’s done it dozens of times before. It’s only surprising that he should be so obvious about it.
Octavia can’t help but smile when Raven seemingly sums up the feelings of the entire group.
“Huh.” She says with a note of wonder tinged with satisfaction.
Then, “I’m glad.”
Wick nods and says, “Me too.”
A look of slight discomfort crosses his face.
“Though it is a little bit like seeing your dad kiss your mom.”
4. Trying to sew by firelight, Marcus decides, is a pretty futile venture. Especially when the person sewing has only ever been adequate, at best. He sighs heavily and attempts to begin once again before he's stopped by a hand on his forearm. He looks up and sees Octavia beside the fire, looking thoroughly unimpressed with him. "Give me those," she orders, motioning to the gloves in his hands. "It's painful watching you ruin something so nice." He chuckles and hands them over to her, throwing his hands up in defeat. He's astounded when she hands them back in a few short minutes, sewn up so well that he can hardly tell they ever needed repair.
"Thank you." He murmurs. Then, quieter, "These were a gift from my mother. I didn't think they could be fixed."
Octavia looks at him and offers a small smile, does not mention that her sewing is a gift from her mother, a victim of Ark justice, or that she has had plenty of time to practice during the 16 years she'd been forced to hide away. Instead she just shrugs and says, "Most things can be. Just takes work and time."
5. Bellamy watches his little sister train with Lincoln and finds himself in awe at how different she is from the little girl he'd tried so hard to protect from the world. Sometimes he finds himself jealous that he isn't her whole world now, but he sees the way Lincoln looks at her, remembers how Lincoln saw her strength even before he himself did, and finds himself thankful instead.
He chuckles quietly when she darts past Lincoln's sword thrust and sweeps his feet out from under him. Lincoln glances over at him, so apparently he wasn't that quiet. Octavia grins over at him and throws her arms out towards him.
"What's up, big brother?" She calls out. "Think you can do better?"
Fifteen minutes and a sizable crowd later, it's Lincoln's turn to chuckle.
6. Lincoln is finishing up in the food storage area when he sees Bellamy walking over to him. He watches as Bellamy reaches into his pack and pulls out two small packages.
"I found a couple of things on the last trip to Mount Weather I thought you might like." Bellamy says, handing them over to him. One is a box of art supplies, finer than any he's ever seen before. The other is a book. Mythology, the title reads, by Edith Hamilton.
7. Bellamy can barely keep his eyes open by the time he stumbles back to his room, which is how he prefers to end his day. If he's so exhausted he can barely think, he knows he can't lay awake all night wondering about Clarke - where she is, how she's doing, if he made the right choice letting her go, if he's making the right choice by staying away.
He's about to flop onto the bed when he notices two sheets of paper sitting on top of his pillow. He flips them and exhales sharply in surprise. The picture he's holding is so finely rendered and so specific that he knows it must be a gift from Lincoln.
There had been a meteor shower in the dead of night and Bellamy, of course, had been fast asleep. Octavia had shaken him awake with a look of glee on her face. She'd been unfazed by his bewildered grumpiness, instead dragging him outside with an insistence that he'd regret it if she didn't.
He remembers his eyes widening in awe at the sight of hundreds of stars streaking through the ink black sky. Octavia had grabbed a blanket from Lincoln sitting a few feet away at the fire, wrapped it around both of them and leaned into him with her arm around his waist.
"See? I knew you'd want to see it."
He'd smiled at her then, leaned his head on top of hers and wrapped his arm around her shoulders to protect against the chill of the night. They'd stayed that way until the meteor shower was over and he'd gone to sleep feeling peaceful and relaxed.
He looks down at the picture he's holding and sees that same sense of peace reflected on the page. Octavia, too, is leaning against him with a look of contentment and serenity that make her look as young as she really is instead of how old she's had to be. He smiles and sets the picture down next to his bed, turns to look at the next one.
He takes a long, deep breath and lets it out slowly. This one is no less detailed than the last, though the memory is fraught with more complicated emotions. It's Clarke, her arms wrapped around his shoulders and face half buried in the shock of black hair curling towards his neck. Even though he can't see his face in the picture, he can feel the rawness of despair and desperation cutting through him like bits of razor wire. He can still feel her arms gripping him, at once a source of comfort and pain. Her face is fragile and open; but even underneath the soft sadness in her eyes he can see the undercurrent of steely resolve. He stares at the picture and tells himself that it won't be his last memory of her. Tells himself she'll be back. Falls asleep with the memory of her breath against his neck.
The next day he brings the picture of him and Octavia and hangs it up on his locker before he changes into his gear for patrol.
The other picture he folds and keeps in his pocket at all times. He doesn't look at it again, but its presence gives him a strange sort of comfort all the same.
8. "Do you think Clarke's ok?" Abby finds herself asking Lincoln one particularly cold morning. She knows she could ask Marcus or Bellamy the same question and they'd offer her some measure of reassurance. But Marcus cares too much about her, and Bellamy cares too much about Clarke to be able to offer her the stark honesty that she wants.
She knows that Lincoln respects Clarke as a leader. She also knows that he's lived with difficult truths his entire life and doesn't shy away from painful honesty.
So it's with bated breath that she sits and waits for his answer.
He takes a long look at her before he nods.
"Clarke is strong." He says firmly.
He pauses for a moment to give her a small, self assured smile.
"Just like her mother."
9. Bellamy finds Lincoln next to the armory working on an arrow, a pile of finished ones gleaming in packs of ten next to him. He shoots him a confused look and lifts the gun in his hands. Lincoln glances up at him and says, "Our bullets will run out someday." He gestures to the completed arrows by his feet. "And an arrow can bring down a deer just as well as a bullet can."
10. "Who's that for?" Octavia asks when she finds Lincoln hunched over his sketchbook. He tips his head back and lifts up the book for her to see. She leans over and deposits a kiss on his forehead before taking a look. He smiles, then turns back to his sketchbook and studies the drawing once more.
He's spent just as much time drawing these past few weeks as he has hunting or helping train others to fight. He'd said as much to Bellamy one day, after he'd gotten his fourth request for an illustration in half as many days.
"It's my fault." Bellamy had admitted apologetically. "I hung up that drawing you made of Octavia and me. One of the other guards asked where I got it from and I guess word got around."
Though he didn't say it, being able to draw out in the open, without embarrassment or fear, is a luxury he's been so rarely afforded in his life. And even though he still often feels like an outsider in this camp, he is glad for the opportunity to use his talents to give people joy rather than to inflict pain.
He's shaken out of his reverie by Octavia's hand on his shoulder. She gestures over to a young boy, about six or sevens, standing timidly in front of him with hands hidden behind his back. He smiles at the little one, recognizes him as the young child who had requested a drawing of his beloved, though long lost, stuffed bear. The child (Hayden, he now recalls) had sat with him and stayed completely silent at first. Then as Lincoln began to put more definition into the bear, he'd begun to speak in short, halting sentences about what the bear looked like. Eventually, he began to describe his stuffed animal in painstaking detail, moving to correct Lincoln when he felt that a specific feature was not exactly right.
Now, Lincoln sets aside his sketchbook and crouches down so that he's at eye level with Hayden.
"Hello again," he says quietly. "Do you have another request?"
Hayden shakes his head and shifts nervously from foot to foot. Lincoln tilts his head and looks at where Hayden's arms disappear behind his back.
"Do you have something you want to show me?" He asks.
Hayden hesitates then stutters out, "Something to give you."
He glances around him, then moves his hands from behind his back to out in front of him. He's holding a piece of paper, its edges somewhat crinkled by his worrying. He steps closer to Lincoln, solemnly hands him the piece of paper, then runs off as quickly as he can back to the entrance of the Ark.
"What is it?" Octavia asks.
Lincoln turns over the paper in his hands and smiles, wide and bright. On the paper is a simple but earnest picture of two people, a child and an adult, sitting side by side; the adult holds a piece of paper and a pen in his hands, the child has a thought bubble floating above it with a picture of a stuffed bear inside. At the top of the page, written in large, untidy scrawl it reads: me and my friend Lincoln.
11. Bellamy focuses on the target in front of him and relaxes his elbow. He lets go of the arrow and is rewarded with a satisfying thwap as it lands just to the right of the bullseye. He glances over to his right and aims a cocky grin at Kane, who looks only slightly chagrined.
A smattering of applause comes from behind them, and the three men turn to see Raven standing next to a smirking Octavia. Raven walks up to them and looks appraisingly at the arrow riddled target. She looks up at Bellamy and claps a hand Lincoln's shoulder.
"Looks like you guys had a pretty good teacher."
She drops her hand, grabs the bow out of Bellamy's hand and picks up an arrow off the ground. In one smooth, swift movement she nocks the arrow and lets it fly. It lands on the only empty spot on the board - the bullseye.
She leans in and cocks her head slightly to one side. "Guess I just had a better one." She turns and flourishes a bow at Octavia, who's almost doubled over in laughter at the expressions of shock and dismay plastered on the faces of the three men.
12. Even though all the surviving teens basically listen exclusively to Bellamy, the rest of the camp still come to Abby and Marcus for the everyday minutia of running the camp. That, combined with the fact that people seem to get hurt or sick with alarming frequency and Marcus still insists on daily patrols, means that Abby and he actually get very little time to spend together quietly.
Octavia says as much one day when they're patrolling the perimeter together and she sees his eyes tracking Abby as she makes her way into the newly constructed medical tent. He drags his eyes away from Abby and shrugs, though inwardly he has to admit that the inability to spend quiet time with Abby is wearing rather thin.
"Can't exactly schedule a date night between all the life threatening emergencies that go on."
"I see Abby taking walks sometimes, around camp." She offers.
Kane shakes his head. "Those are to gather plants and herbs for medicine, which I know nothing about. And I don't want to pull anyone off duty just to teach me. I'd only get in the way."
A thoughtful look crosses Octavia's face but she says nothing and just nods, so Marcus thinks nothing of it.
Two days later, he finds a small book on his cot. He opens it and leafs through page after page of beautifully detailed depictions of dozens of different plants. He recognizes Lincoln's detailed style and brush stroke. Below each illustration are descriptions and meticulously outlined properties written out in Octavia's firm, slanting hand.
A week later, Octavia sees Kane meet Abby at the gate before she goes off to the woods to look for plants. They take nearly an hour longer together than Abby normally does alone, but manage to return to camp with twice the normal amount of gathered plants. Abby looks more relaxed than she has in weeks and Kane is positively beaming.
"Guess date night was pretty successful." She mentions to Lincoln, who looks over at the two and smiles. Kane catches his eye and mouths thank you - which is a tad bit unnecessary since it's probably the sixth or seventh time he's said it - before jogging over to the medical tent.
13. There's a smell of snow in the air the day the hunting party manages to bring down a rather majestic looking buck. Unfortunately, the buck doesn't go down without a fight and Marcus isn't as young or quick as he'd like to be, so he finds himself on the receiving end of a pretty gruesome leg wound courtesy of the buck's razor sharp antlers. He sends the rest of the hunting party back with the meat, while Bellamy and Lincoln hang back to make sure he's alright. He shakes off their offers of help, stubbornly insisting on walking back to camp on his own. It was his own silly pride that got him hurt and he'll deal with the pain of that mistake.
A mile later, the two men look at each other, then back at a limping Kane, who's still staunchly refusing any aid. Finally, Lincoln throws up his hands in a rare fit of exasperation and exclaims, "Do you really want to explain to Abby that you got your leg torn open and refused any aid for it?" Kane grimaces, thinks for a moment, then nods and accepts the arms of the two men on either side of him.
They’ve ended up farther from camp while tracking the deer and even though Lincoln has managed to slow the bleeding, they still end up basically fully carrying Marcus into the camp. Abby is waiting for them and rushes over, face blanching at the sight of his blood soaked pants. She wraps Marcus's face in her hands and looks into his eyes. He smiles weakly at her and offers a meek answer to the question he sees reflected in her eyes.
"It looks worse than it is."
She looks skeptically at him before glancing at Lincoln, who nods in agreement. They follow Abby into the medical bay and lay him gently on the first available bed. Bellamy stations himself outside and Lincoln goes to do the same before Abby stops him.
“Jackson is off gathering in the woods today.” Lincoln nods and goes to wash his hands, joining her shortly next to the hospital bed. He can tell the wound must not be that serious because even though Abby sets about working as diligently as ever, he can hear her softly berating Marcus.
"I can't believe you even decided to go with them - especially when your leg was already acting up because of the cold." She says pointedly. Marcus shrugs casually and aims what Lincoln assumes he considers his most charming smile.
“I couldn't let the young guys have all the fun."
Abby's expression turns murderous. "You're out there," she hisses violently, which is strangely at odds with the gentle way she's treating his leg, "risking your life because you want to prove that you're still spry enough to keep up with people 20 years younger than you are?"
Marcus huffs softly and replies, "Hunting for food is not exactly a life threatening exercise, Abby."
“And what if he’d gored you in the stomach instead of the leg?” She shoots back. “Even this wound is just plain dumb luck. Two inches higher and it would’ve gotten your femoral artery. And this time a 200 pound granite beam wouldn’t be there to keep you alive.”
Marcus’s eyes soften as he looks over at Abby and gently lays a hand on her forearm.
“It wasn’t the beam that saved me. It was you.”
The moment feels so intimate that Lincoln quickly shuffles to the side, focuses on cleaning the excess blood on Marcus’s leg, and keeps his eyes firmly trained on the tools in front of him.
“Then I need you to not run off on every single daredevil mission. We’re in this together.” He hears her reply, the venom gone from her voice and replaced with a mix of weariness and warmth. “I can’t lose you.”
The ‘too’ is unspoken, but it seems to ring out in the air all the same. After a moment, he hears a rustling from Marcus.
“You won’t.” He says to her quietly. Then, “I’m sorry, Abby. I’ll be more careful.”
Lincoln can hear the smile in Abby’s voice when she replies.
“I know you will.”
14. Bellamy sees Abby come out of the medical bay and walks over to her. There’s a tired smile on her face but he figures that the presence of a smile at all means that Kane will be ok.
“He’s fine.” She assures him. “Thank you for getting him back safely.”
Bellamy nods, relief spreading through him. Before he can turn to go, however, she continues on with a determined look on her face.
“I do need him to get a week of rest. He sprained his ankle in addition to getting his leg torn up." She sighs. "That leg was barely healed from the last time it got torn up and it won’t heal up correctly if he doesn’t stay off of it. I need you to make sure that he stays off his legs for the next week, and that he doesn’t leave this camp for the next two weeks.”
The tone in her voice, the fierceness in her eyes, even the rigid line of her spine are so like Clarke’s that for a moment Bellamy can think of nothing but how desperately he misses her. He tries to remember to breathe and ignores the ache in his heart, and focuses back on Abby. A look of concern flashes across her face but he manages to work the firm line of his mouth into a half-hearted smirk and hopes that she doesn't think too hard about his reaction.
“He’s not going to like that.”
She raises an eyebrow and waits.
He smiles now, genuine and bright. “I’ll make sure it happens.”
15. It comes as a surprise to absolutely no one that Marcus takes terribly to required bed rest. By the end of the first day, Bellamy has to completely change the guard schedule. He's forgotten that Kane is both commander and Councilman in addition to just generally being a rather clever man; which means he knows when to cajole, when to play nice, and when to apply pressure to get his way.
Bellamy says as much to Abby when he sees her in the mess hall at the end of the first day, new schedule in hand.
He sees the corner of her mouth twitch in amusement, though her expression remains neutral.
"He just needs his mind occupied on a specific problem or a task, otherwise he'll get cagey.”
Bellamy furrows his brow.
"So what do you want me to do?"
She shoots him an amused glance.
"I'm sure you can figure something out."
When Octavia shows up for her guard shift the next day, she spends the entire time either speaking in Trigedaslang or correcting his own attempts to reply to her. Raven shows him schematics for the new water filtration system that she and Wick have devised and explains what exactly they’re trying to do in so much detail that his head spins. Bellamy asks for his help in constructing a new training area and schedule, while Sinclair runs over all the supplies and capabilities remaining at Mt. Weather.
“It’s certainly the most enjoyable jail time I’ve ever had to serve,” he tells Abby later that night as they’re eating dinner together. She just rolls her eyes at his mention of jail time and proceeds to tell him about her day in medical.
Lincoln has the last guard shift before he turns in for the night, and Marcus finds himself genuinely curious at what the quiet man will bring in the form of a distraction. He has his answer a moment later when Lincoln steps in, takes a seat next to his bed and pulls out a book from his back pocket.
“Mythology,” he reads out loud, then looks up at Lincoln.
“Are you going to read to me?” he asks with an amused lilt to his voice.
But Lincoln just shakes his head and leans forward with his hands on his knees. Something seems off about the whole movement, but he can’t quite figure out what. A moment later, he realizes it’s because he’s so used to seeing the man looking calm and unfazed, that it’s a bit jarring when it registers that Lincoln is actually nervous.
Marcus leans back and nods encouragingly to Lincoln. After a long moment, Lincoln exhales slowly and says, “I need you to teach me how to read.”
Marcus blinks twice in surprise and bites back a string of questions that are running through his mind. He thinks back to his time spent in Lexa’s compound, all the meetings with the Tree crew, even the times he’s looked over Lincoln’s notebooks. He realizes that he can’t recall one instance where he saw anything written, either in Trigedaslang or English, and is struck by the now obvious realization that it’s because the clans operate on a purely oral basis. Before he can go further in his musing about the what’s and why’s of this, Lincoln gestures at the book and continues.
“Bellamy gave this to me a few weeks ago.” At Marcus’s incredulous look - because, really, who thinks a dense book about ancient mythology would make for good, light reading - he huffs a laugh and adds, “A favorite of Octavia’s.”
Lincoln gets up and rocks back on his heels.
“I’ve tried to figure it on my own, but...” He shakes his head, obviously aggravated. “I can only recognize a few words.”
Marcus looks thoughtfully between the book and Lincoln, then nods. Lincoln’s face relaxes as he sits down next to Marcus, eyes bright and eager to begin. It’s Marcus’s turn to feel nervous as he sits and turns the book over in his hands. He’s not exactly sure what he’s supposed to do and says as much to Lincoln.
“I’m not really sure where to begin. It’s been so long that I can’t even quite remember how I learned to read.”
Lincoln is back to his trademarked sense of calm and simply replies with, “You’ve taught dozens of your people how to fight, how to shoot, how to be warriors.” He offers him a small smile.
“You’re a good teacher. And I’m a very quick student.”
Marcus chuckles, then nods slowly, formulating a plan in his mind. Lincoln opens the book to a marked page somewhere halfway through the novel.
“Can we start with this one?” He asks.
“Of course.” Marcus replies as he looks at the title.
“The Story of Prometheus.” He reads out loud, then turns and looks at Lincoln. “Any particular reason you want to start with this one?”
Lincoln points to a word on the page.
“Fire,” he says with a hint of pride. “It’s a word I recognize.”
Marcus smiles.
“Seems like as good a place to start as any.”
He begins reading it out loud slowly, his finger trailing under every word. Every few sentences or so, he hears a noise of understanding from Lincoln, sees him silently mouthing a word in the periphery of his vision that he must recognize from another time and place in his life. Soon though, both he and Lincoln are so engrossed in the story that Lincoln stops jumping ahead to find words that he knows and instead leans back, listening to the slow, soothing cadence of Kane’s voice relaying the story Prometheus’s gift to mankind.
They’re finishing up the story just as Lincoln’s guard shift is wrapping up.
“The story of Prometheus,” Marcus reads, “does not show us that gods and men are equal. It simply tells us that there is strength and power in submitting to the vulnerability of true compassion.”