Chapter Text
“What the hell is that?” Wick squawked, as Bellamy dumped a sack of rusty metal parts onto the floor of the big workshop he shared with Raven and the other mechs who’d survived groundfall. “What kind of shit are you pouring on my floor, man?”
Bellamy shrugged, and toed the pile. “Guns.”
“Those?” Wick came slightly closer and peered at the pile. “That is a pile of corroded shit parts. Not guns.”
“A couple Trikru kids showed up at the Exchange today. Swore these were from an old stockpile, hidden away decades ago, once the word came down from their Commander at the time banning guns. They wanted to know if we could fix them. I said I’d ask.”
Two gangly, nervous teens, maybe fifteen or sixteen years old, neither of them sporting more than one small tattoo, clutching a sack of old disassembled rifles with way to much hope and excitement in their eyes. He’d’ve bet that they didn’t have any battle-kill scars either. Not that he asked to see them, though he’d learned he could. As an adult with certified kills of his own, he had the authority to ask for anyone’s bona fides. Not that he could imagine ever doing that.
“No. Absolutely not,” Wick said.
“Don’t be such a whiny baby, Wick,” Raven called from her side of the large room. “You can’t tell what’s salvageable just by looking. You have to actually pick it up.”
Wick raised his hands, waggling his fingers, and his eyebrows, as he said, “I can’t risk my talented hands on crap like that.”
“Who says you have talented hands?”
“You did. Last night.”
The other mechs in the room hooted their appreciation for the exchange, and Bellamy wondered again what the status of their relationship actually was.
It was clear enough that Wick was head over heels in love with Raven, but her feelings weren’t nearly so easy to judge. She’d grown cautious with her heart, thanks to that ginormous ass Finn Collins. Bellamy used to try to feel bad for the guy, but had lately given up the effort. He’d pretty much trailed disaster in his wake no matter where he went. As far as Bellamy was concerned, their lives were better off without him. Not that he’d ever let Raven or Clarke know that’s how he felt. As for Raven and Wick, he knew they didn’t room together, and that they were close. And that was it, and all he really needed to know.
Raven glowered at Wick from under her eyebrows. “Yeah, well, use your talented hands on that pile, or don’t expect to use them on me.”
“I already poked through it,” Bellamy told them. “I think there might be some useful bits in there. Enough to put together at least one or two that might work.”
“Sure it won’t cause an international incident if you give Trikru kids guns?” Wick asked, squatting down and sifting through the pile.
“No. But it’s not my job to keep Trikru kids in line either.”
Thank God. They were feeling change in the wind, too, and it was winding them up higher than any drug on the market in Polis.
“I’ll talk to Kane and Clarke before I give them back,” Bellamy said, “if that makes you feel any better. But it’ll be good to know, either way, if they have stashes that might actually yield working weapons.”
“You got a point, and,” Wick stood up, an assembled carbine in his hands, “they have the parts for about five broken-ass urban assault rifles. Missing screws and pins, barrels full of rust, and some of this plastic isn’t going to take a lot of use before it cracks, but, the important parts are all here.”
“Definitely a good news, bad news situation,” Bellamy said, scrubbing his face and suddenly exhausted by all the meetings he was going to end up in, thanks to this. “Thanks, man. Set them aside for now and I’ll get back to you about how we’re going to handle it.”
Bellamy was headed out the door when he realized Raven had appeared at his side. Damn, but could she move quickly and quietly when she wanted too, even with her cane and leg brace.
“Speaking of good news, bad news,” Raven said in a low voice, “the Azgeda Ambassador was down here the other day.”
“Yeah?” All thoughts about stupid Trikru teenagers and their rusty new toys fled, and the hairs on the back of his neck stood up.
“She asked me for a tutorial on how ultrasounds work.”
“Oh.”
“Anything you want to share, champ?”
“Nothing you haven’t already guessed, Reyes.”
“Congratulations?”
Bellamy couldn’t quite stop the smile. “Yeah. Thanks.”
“And, speaking of international incidents, I really thought the first Grounder-Skaikru baby would be your sister’s.”
“Yeah. No. Her implant works just fine.”
“Oh,” Raven said, and then, “Ooohhh. You forgot that Echo wouldn’t have one, didn’t you.”
He shrugged. He wished he could say he forgot, but that would imply he’d ever thought about it in the first place.
“So, why is she so concerned about understanding ultrasound technology? Which, by the way, she picked up quickly. And wanted to know if you could use it on horses.”
“Birth defects, miscarriages and maternal mortality are all really high on Earth, in her clan. And her real vocation is horse breeding and horse-trading. Like, for real. You should see her arguing values with the Trikru horse dealers.”
“So,” Raven paused delicately, “is everything okay?”
“Yeah. It is, actually. So far. We’ve even finished the full genetic counseling workup with Dr. Griffin. The baby should be… fine.” He shook his head, still feeling about a thousand contradictory things.
“Does Clarke know? Because, please God, don’t make me keep this a secret from her.”
“She does. No worries. Gossip away.”
He could see her fighting to ask all sorts of questions. Questions she swallowed because she was a good friend. “When do we get to meet the rugrat?” she asked instead.
“June, probably just before midsummer.”
“Does this mean some kind of wedding-type thing is in your future?”
“No. Or, well, it’s complicated.”
“International complications?”
“Oh, yeah. And all kinds of weird-as-shit grounder hangups about pregnancy and childbirth and approved bloodlines and official parentage. Not Echo’s,” he hastened to add, “she’s more than ready to dump all that woo for modern childbirth, but her people probably won’t be.”
“Woo?”
“I called it barbarism the other day, and got a mini-lecture from Kane about respecting organic customs that respond to cultural and environmental stressors and avoiding the role of cultural imperialist. So now I’m calling it ‘woo’.”
Raven goggled at him. “What?”
“His academic major was sociology and anthropology.”
“That…” she trailed off, walking on with him in silence for a while. “That explains so much about him.”