Work Text:
i.
The mess hall was noisy, full to the brim even before peak lunch hour, but the background noise was soothing to Raven. A few people circled by her table, some curious as to what she was working on at the moment, others a bit disgruntled she was taking up a whole table for her bits and bobs of deconstructed machinery. She smiled mysteriously at the first type and glared at the second. Both left her well enough alone after a while, which was a relief.
Except, just as she was getting into a groove putting her almost finished product together, a shadow fell over her table and didn’t go away.
“Raven.”
She kept her head bent but flicked a glance up. Abby was staring at her expectantly, and Kane lurked behind her. They both had full lunch trays clutched in their hands.
“Chancellor.”
“Is there a reason your workroom has suddenly been relocated?” Abby asked lightly, almost teasingly.
Raven shrugged as she fastened the second-to-last screw back in and answered in kind. “I got hungry. Didn’t want crumbs on my shit.”
Kane smothered a snort, and Abby sighed. “Well, considering there is nowhere else to sit, mind if we join?”
She shrugged again, and then proceeded to ignore them, even when they tried to make small talk. Normally she’d at least try to engage in the conversation, but she was almost done–
Her finger slipped, pressing down on the button, and then a bright flash went off. Abby and Kane–along with occupants of nearby tables–let out startled croaks–and looked towards her. Raven couldn’t help but grin widely in response. Her fingers drummed over the camera in her hands in anticipation as it whirred and worked its magic.
“Is that a–oh what were they called?” Kane inquired, eyes bright.
“Polaroid. Or a knockoff at least,” Raven answered, snatching the photo as it came out of the print slot.
Kane started rattling off random facts and history about the camera, and Abby seemed equally interested, though Raven was sure it really had nothing to do with the camera, per say.
She bit her lip to prevent the laughter threatening to burst when she finally was able to see the developed image. The colors were warped–she’d have to improve her ink formula–and there were both blurry and grainy patches, but nonetheless, anyone with even semi-functional eyes could see what was going on in the photo.
“Can we see?” Kane asked, sticking out a hand.
“Didn’t quite develop right, sorry. Guess I gotta spend some more time on it,” Raven lied.
Abby raised her eyebrows in amused disbelief. As she started to say something, Raven swept the camera and her tools into her arms and hurriedly stood up from the table.
“Sorry. Need to get back to, you know, keeping the camp running.”
She could feel Kane and Abby watching her leave, and she barely made it out of the mess hall without grinning like a fool.
As soon as she got back to her work room, she pinned the picture of the two camp leaders on her bulletin board, shaking her head at the gem of a moment she had just captured.
ii.
“Just a moment, sir.”
Kane nearly waved Sinclair off, because the Council meeting had been a long one. His back ached, and he had a backup of guard reports to sort through. He just wanted to follow the others members out the door. Even so, he sank back into his chair, nodding for the chief engineer to go on.
“I, ah, stumbled across something I thought you should see.”
Hesitantly, Sinclair pulled a stiff, square paper from behind his back. As Kane took it, his fingers brushed a glossy surface on the front and roughness on the back. His eyebrows shot up when he realized what it was.
“I took it down from where it was posted,” Sinclair explained, exasperated. “Not many people saw it I think, and it was meant in good fun, but still. She’s the chancellor, you’re on the Council–it wasn’t appropriate.”
Kane laughed. “It’s quite funny actually.”
“Wouldn’t want people getting the wrong idea though.”
Pausing thoughtfully, Kane wiggled the photo in his hand. “Wouldn’t want that, no.”
Sinclair considered him carefully, a smile ghosting across his face. “Like I said, it was something I thought you should see.”
“Is it something I should do something about?”
“About who took the photo? Or what’s in and on the photo?”
Kane shot Sinclair an amused look. “Oh, I know who took the photo. And as to the other question–”
He was cut off by loud, fast footsteps and someone slamming around the doorframe and into the Council room.
“You seen Bellamy?” Octavia blurted, one hand clutching her side, her chest rising and falling rapidly.
“Everything okay?” Kane demanded.
Octavia nodded furiously, then repeated. “Bellamy?”
“Working on the southern gate, I think,” Sinclair answered.
Octavia took off without a goodbye, and Kane turned back to Sinclair, who was clearly still waiting for an answer. He quirked a half-smile at his engineer, who was looking far too amused for his own good. “Dismissed, Sinclair.”
He smiled in return. “Have a good day, sir.”
Kane shook his head as he watched the man go, thumb sliding over the picture.
Despite the discolored tones and poor quality, it actually was quite a good photo of him and Abby. You could tell even under all the additions in red pen–lopsided hearts drawn over his eyes which were looking at her, and scribbled blush on her cheeks as she pointedly stared at her plate instead of him. Whether Raven had made the cartoonish additions to the photo or not, he didn’t know, nor did he particularly care.
It was a good photo, and moreover, pretty accurate if he was being honest. So he slipped it into his pocket for safekeeping.
iii.
Bellamy put his hand to his brow, shading his eyes as he stared up at his best friend. Miller was dozens of feet above them, standing on a tree limb and hugging the trunk with what looked like all of his strength.
“How the hell…” he wondered.
“Ask them,” Octavia grunted.
Turning slowly, he fixed his sights on Asher and Lyle, two of the older delinquents. Surprisingly, they stared him down for at least twenty seconds before they shrunk back, chins tucking down in wariness so they looked like turtles retreating into their shells.
“We didn’t think he’d actually do it,” Lyle pleaded.
“The dare was, just, a joke or whatever. He didn’t have to take it seriously,” Asher muttered.
“Dare?”
Both boys went wide-eyed at Bellamy’s dead tone. “Uh, yeah,” Lyle sputtered. “I don’t know, we were just dicking around, saying shit about who would have the balls to climb the trees and then Miller fucking does it.”
“He just did it,” Bellamy stated skeptically. “Because he felt like scratching up his hands and risking cracking his head open in a fall and getting stuck fifty feet in the air.”
Lyle and Asher exchanged a look.
“What the fuck, guys,” he sighed. “I don’t have time for this shit. How did Miller end up in the tree? Spit it out, now.”
The boys stayed silent, and did nothing except scuff their shoe against the ground, but Bellamy finally understood, because everyone else in the crowd that had gathered was sneaking knowing looks at Monty. For his part, Monty seemed unaware of the attention, more focused on Miller. His brow pinched worriedly as he stared up at him, and Bellamy let out another labored sighed.
He suddenly knew exactly how and why his friend had ended up in the fucking tree. Bravado and the need to impress his goddamn crush may have gotten him up there, but now Bellamy needed to know why he was still up there.
Without many other options, he resorted to following the idiot into the tree, making sure to voice his complaints about the whole situation once he got within hearing distance of Miller.
“Really? This was the way to impress him. Good job–at the very least you’ve caught his attention by making him worry you’re going to fall and break your back.”
“Shut up asswipe,” Miller snapped, but his voice was shaky, weak.
“You’re afraid of heights?” Bellamy asked in disbelief.
“I didn’t fucking know. When did we climb shit in the Ark? Never, that’s when.”
“You didn’t know.”
“Shut. Up.”
Bellamy waited a beat, and then he couldn’t hold it together any longer. He laughed, long and hard, so much so that the branch he was standing on started to shake.
“I hate you so much,” Miller groaned, shooting him glare as well. It didn’t do much to intimidate, though, considering nervous sweat was beading on his forehead and dripping all over his face.
“Hate me as much as you want, but hate me while we actively try to get you down.”
“About fucking time.”
“Dude. You’re the one who got yourself here.”
“Dude, shut up.” Miller paused as they began their descent, a nauseous expression crossing his face. Even so, he managed to croak out, “You’re never going to let me forget this are you.”
“Not a chance.”
“Fine. You’re buying me a drink tonight. Scratch that–as many drinks as I want.”
“Done,” Bellamy agreed with a grin.
iv.
Harper tried for the third time to refill her cups, but for the third time, Miller swayed in front of her just right so that she couldn’t get to the still of moonshine.
“Alright, I think you’ve had enough,” Bellamy laughed as he steadied his friend. Then he shot Harper an apologetic look. She just grinned, rolling the cups between her palms.
“You said as many drinks as I wanted!” Miller yelled, his words a bit too slurred to be as indignant as he probably meant them.
“You don’t want anymore, trust me. You’ll thank me in the morning.” Bellamy said as he finally guided Miller out of the way.
“I’ve got some of that hangover tea stuff that Monty made if he wants it tomorrow,” she offered as they passed.
“He doesn’t deserve it,” Bellamy grumbled, then snorted at the dopey smile that Miller was now sporting. Harper grinned too, knowing it was because she had mentioned Monty.
She laughed as she watched them walk away, then filled her cup. Yana and Kyle stopped her on the way back to chat for a while, talking about the plans to expand the cabins and holding a shooting competition in the coming weeks. By the time she got back to the fire, Monroe was standing, waiting for her drink.
“About time,” she huffed. “I’m almost sober.”
Harper sighed, then handed over her friend’s cup. They clinked them together without looking, a habit formed back in their dropship days. Smiling, Harper remembered when they hadn’t been so good at it, managing to splash each other in the face. Moonshine stung like nothing else when it was in your eye, and they got belly aches from bursting into drunken laughter about how the other one looked so shocked, but that last one was a good kind of hurt. Her smile faltered, because pain from pleasure was something they rarely saw down here.
“You alright?” Monroe asked, turning concerned eyes her way. Harper knew she was getting better; the nightmares were fading and hearing the drills from the cabin construction didn’t send her into a panic anymore. Still, Monroe had been the one to stay up with her when she couldn’t sleep and take her on walks to get away from the triggering noise, and so she worried about her more than most.
“Yeah,” Harper assured her. She was getting better; she had to be. Quickly she searched for a happy memory, any happy memory, something to keep her from slipping into remembering pain and only pain without the benefit of getting something good from it in return. After a beat and over the crackling flames of the fire, she murmured, “Remember that time Fox convinced Jon that he had eaten Jobi nuts again?”
Monroe chuckled. “Oh damn. And he started screaming about how he was gonna die and Bellamy nearly had to slap him to get him to calm down.”
“And Bell believed Fox when she said she didn’t know what Jon was talking about when he accused her of tricking him.”
“Lived up to her name,” Monroe said with a fond smile. “Nobody would dare not believe that innocent face, but damn could she rattle off fibs like a pro grifter. Jesus, she even fooled Clarke about who had snatched that extra moonshine from Monty.”
Harper remembered that night, when Fox had snuck into their tent with a bottle of lifted alcohol. They had spent the late hours giggling and talking about boys and girls and how they were going to build a castle when they weren’t at war anymore.
They weren’t at war anymore, had even come within a breath of peace, but Fox wasn’t here to see it. Harper’s chest clenched, and then suddenly Monroe’s hand was in hers.
“She’d be so happy here, you know?” Monroe said, looking over at the fallen Ark.
Harper looked too, taking in the hulking mass of metal on the ground, the ring arcing up into the air like something straight out of a fairytale.
“Yeah,” she agreed softly, squeezing Monroe’s hand, because although Fox wasn’t here, and that wasn’t fair or right or how it was ever supposed to be, Monroe was here, and so was she, and so was this place that they had fought for and bled for and lost people for. So Harper smiled, a little sad, a little content, and said, “Yeah, she would be.”