Chapter Text
1. Learning (Bellamy)
When Octavia was four, you had realized with a jolt that she wasn’t ever going to go to school.
It was one of many such realizations you would have, over the years; that she couldn’t see a doctor when she caught the flu that was going around, unable to get treatment for the fever that burned her little body up; that she wouldn’t get a full ration of food just to herself, two people’s portions split three-ways for every meal; that she would have to wear the kid's dress your mother had stolen or traded for, that your sister couldn’t go to the redistribution centre when she grew out of it. Little rights and abilities that most took for granted, that weren’t possible for her.
The school thing is the most shocking, to you. The Ark has medicine shortages, food shortages, and its not like anyone has many wardrobe options, but school is something every kid is allowed, no matter what station they live on or how important their parents are, whether they’re the skinny, sunken-eyed neglected kids or the ones with bright smiles and shiny hair.
But to go to school, you need to exist. And Octavia doesn’t.
So you get her a notebook and pencils, borrow things from the classroom that was yours when you were her age.
You teach her the alphabet and how to count to one-hundred, the names of colours and all the stories you learned in school that the mythology your mother reads the two of you didn't tell. You show her how to hold a pencil right, sort of pinching instead of clutched in a fist, and Octavia copies the shapes of letters and numbers again and again until they’re instinct, have her say the sounds each letter makes as she writes them down.
She loves writing their shared name; B-L-A-K-E; then O-C-T-A-V-I-A; the first time she reads an entire story herself- a short, simple telling of the myth of Cassandra- she smiles so big and wide at the end that you pick her up and spin her around and around, and you wish you could tell people about your brilliant little sister because you have never been so proud.
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2. Earring (Raven)
Finn was waiting outside your door that morning, a hand held behind his back and a giant grin on his face.
“Happy birthday Raven,” he bounced on his toes, smile only growing.
You laughed, the foul mood your mother, passed out on the couch and reeking of moonshine, had started your 14th birthday with vanishing. “How long have you been out here?”
Finn only shrugged, smile softening into the dopey look he got around you these days. “I got you something,” he said, whipping his hand from behind his back and uncurling his fingers from the fist they had been in. Sitting in the palm of his hand were two pieces of shiny metal. Looking closer, you realized they were earrings.
“They're beautiful,” gently picking them up, you looking closer. Jewellery was hard to get a hold of on the Ark, making it taking materials and skill that few people had the time or inclination to learn. “Where did you get these?” you asked in wonder.
He smirked. “Say thank you, Raven.”
You made a face at him. “Thank you, Raven,” you parroted back.
Finn only laughed. “Don't worry about it, I didn't steal them or anything. Try them on!”
Carefully, you took the old earrings you had in out, trading them for the new ones. “How do I look?” you asked.
He kept smiling like a dope. “Beautiful.”
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3. Growth (Octavia)
Bellamy comes home late the night before you turn sixteen, after your mother has already gone to bed. He pulls you away from the beds, gestures to be quiet. He watches the clock with you, counting down the minutes, then seconds, until the next day. Until your birthday.
When midnight hits, he grins at you and you grin back, watching as he rummages through his bag, pulling out a bottle of something.
“Happy birthday,” he tells you, handing the bottle over.
“What is it?” you open the top, sniff what's inside. “Holy-”
He laughs softly. “I know. Moonshine is basically rocket fuel. But I thought you should have some, to celebrate the big day.”
You take a sip cautiously, try not to spit it out. Force it down your throat.
Bellamy laughs, a bit. “I know. I know. It's best to just swallow right away.”
That one sip has made everything warm, you realize as Bellamy takes the bottle, swallowing his own swig and shaking his head after it's down.
You do that for hours, probably, trading the bottle back and forth, the stuff tasting less nasty with every swallow. It's not a big bottle by any means, but by the end of it you're having trouble keeping your giggles quiet. They don't wake their mother, which is good, but the next morning they both have splitting headaches, and your mom takes one look and knows what's happened.
“Happy sixteenth,” Bellamy whispers to you while your mother gets you both water- thank god they aren't on drought protocols right now.
You never really thought you'd make it this long without being caught. It's possible your mom and brother feel the same, if their faces are anything to go by. This isn't so much a birthday as an anniversary.
You sigh, press your forehead against the cool metal. “Happy sixteen.”
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4. Grief (Bellamy)
It's at the end of the longest day of your life- when you've damned your sister to live her remaining years in the Sky-Box and watched your mother's body torn out of the airlock and, least of all, ruined any future you had on this godforsaken space station hell- when you get back to the place you've called home since birth, that you realize there isn't a single picture of Octavia.
Up in frames: pictures of you, differing ages. Some with your mother, some with a man you only sort of remember who shares your sister's eyes and your mouth; some with just him and your mother; one of your grandparents, dead before you were born. You mother had kept them up and showed them off, like look how normal we are, no extra family members for the Blake's. Everything your mother ever did was to protect Octavia, and you-
You don't have a picture of her. Will you remember what she looks like? You're an accomplice to her existence, so no visiting hours for you. The next time you'll see your baby sister will be the last. On her 18th birthday, when two guards march her to the Chancellor and then to an airlock. The last time you'll see her will overlap with the last time you saw your mother, and you won't remember the details. In ten years, twenty years, will you remember how her hair fell against her cheeks? The way her smile would widen when you brought her even the tiniest gift from the world outside their quarters? How she frowned, so serious, when you tried to teach her things she should have been taught by teachers, in the classrooms?
Augustus had a sister, you told your mother the day she was born. But Augustus was a warrior, a leader, and Octavia didn't have him for a brother.
She only had you. And you weren't even close to good enough.
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5. Isolation (Clarke)
It takes three weeks of isolation before you crack.
You’re sort of proud of that, really, even though you know a lot of the reason is the numbness that spread through your body when your father was sucked out an airlock- you’ve watched people in medical quarantines breakdown after only a few days, even with the interactions with doctors and nurses. You don’t have that, here: only the guards who bring your meals, who won’t speak a single word.
(you try to tell them about the life support, at first. It doesn’t take long for you to realize the guards they let near you are ones who already know. The ones loyal to the Chancellor and his lies, his secrets. The ones your father would have hated.)
It takes you three weeks to crack, and when you finally do, you shatter.