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Lincoln twirled the axe in his hand, trying very hard not to glance across the yard yet again. Positioning another piece of wood, he slammed the blade into it. The crack of the log splitting rang in his ears, but it still wasn’t enough to drown out Octavia’s calls floating across the yard.
“Feet further apart! How many times do I have to tell you?”
A thud and a groan immediately followed. Someone must not have corrected their stance quick enough, and she not doubt had knocked them on their feet. He tried not to look, he really did, but then he was seeing her, glowering down at her trainee. Lincoln sighed, because she had been wearing that expression for weeks now, ever since he had started wearing the guard jacket.
Her face pinched sourly whenever she looked at him now. At first he had tried not wearing it in their rooms, just whenever he had business with the guard or the Council. Octavia would inevitably see him around, though, and her gaze hardened as it traced the worn fabric and straining stitches of the jacket stretching across his shoulders. Then she started wearing that expression at home whether he had the jacket on or not. He had tried to be understanding, he really had. When he had found her sleeping outside the walls, his gut had twisted at how tense her body had been, and he had breathed easier when she relaxed at feeling his solidness behind her.
She needed him, the Trikru warrior she had fallen in love with. Still, with war on the horizon, he was needed by others too: by the guard, by the Council, by Bellamy. And all of those people needed him to be part of Skaikru. Without the jacket, he was just Lincoln. With the jacket, he was someone who could make a difference, who could make peace, the type of peace he had always dreamed of but never thought he would see in his lifetime.
So he wore it always now, and Octavia hadn’t spoken to him in a week. He knew it was painful for her, a reminder of her life before, but putting on that jacket made him feel like he was finally home. He was trying so hard to make this easier on her, but she was making it too hard on him to even want to keep trying.
Setting up another log, he grunted in frustration as he split it in half. Her voice carried across the yard to him again, hard and demanding. He swung the axe again, faster. Log, swing, crack. Log, swing, crack. Log, swing–
Pieces of wood went flying, fractured into unusable chunks. Those working next to him turned wary glances his way. Raising his hand in apology, he sucked in labored breaths, trying to get his anger under control.
“You alright?” Miller called out, wiping sweat from his brow.
Lincoln nodded, still breathless. “Just got a little too into the rhythm.”
Miller gave him a long look before resuming his work again.
The next log Lincoln set up, he split perfectly. His swings stayed controlled, slow and steady, and his pile grew quickly as he continued to work. The anger was still there though, as was the urge to glance over at Octavia, to make sure that she was still there, that she hadn’t run off into those woods and left him behind.
It was his greatest fear, but he couldn’t bring himself to give up the threadbare jacket, not even for her. Not yet, at least.
Bellamy slid into the seat across from Lincoln, pushing a cup of moonshine his way.
“I’m not drinking tonight.”
Sighing, Bellamy just pushed it closer to him. “Gina sent it over with me. She said you looked like you needed one.”
Lincoln stared at him, unmoved.
“Okay, she really said you looked sad and a little pissed off and have for hours, and you’re scaring off paying patrons.”
The warrior snorted, but his hand curled around the tin cup nonetheless. Still, he didn’t drink, just stared at the contents. Bellamy sighed, then took a swig of his own drink.
“What did she do now?” He asked after a beat.
Lincoln took a drink, no doubt to avoid answering Bellamy’s question.
“She went a whole month without speaking to me once,” he offered. “You know how terrible it is to live in one room with someone who won’t speak to you for amonth?”
He took another drink.
“She was eight,” Bellamy continued. “And it was Christmas. She wanted to go see the light show.”
“Light show?”
He resisted a smile. Lincoln never failed to be curious about their life on the Ark, especially when it came to Octavia. “Every year the engineering department rigged up this crazy animated light show for the kids. And the adults, too. We couldn’t have trees anymore, so they came up with something else when the Ark first launched. Mom and I had been before, but we stopped going once O was old enough to be upset about missing out. She argued it was going to be dark in the crowd during the show anyways, so no one would see her. Mom and she fought for days about it, until I threatened to stop telling her about anything that happened outside our room if she kept asking.”
Lincoln whistled. “Bet that went over well.”
“Like I said, she didn’t speak to me for a month.” He paused, swirling his cup. “I felt so guilty, because it was a mean thing for me to threaten. God, her entire life was that box of a room. But I was terrified that she would sneak out, that she would be discovered, and then floated–”
“You were trying to protect her.”
“And I was young and stupid. She was eight, and we were all she had.” Bellamy’s hand clenched into a fist, because no matter how much time passed, no matter how many friends Octavia made, he would still always resent those years she had spent hidden away. “But she forgave me eventually. Even when she wasn’t speaking to me, I told her stories. About school, about the marketplace, the mess hall–she finally broke when I told this story about a prank one of my classmates had played on my teacher. It was just a giggle, but it was the first sound I had gotten from her in weeks. Best thing I’ve ever heard, to this day.”
Bellamy smiled, remembering how the knots in his chest had started to ease that night, relieved that he hadn’t damaged the one bright thing in his life for good.
“Are you saying she’ll forgive me eventually?” Lincoln asked in a wry tone.
Sighing, Bellamy looked him straight in the eye and said, “I’m saying: don’t stop trying. She’s stubborn, especially when she knows she’s wrong. But she loves you, and god knows you love her, so don’t stop trying. Please. She needs you now more than ever.”
Lincoln closed his eyes and sighed, looking more weary than Bellamy had ever seen him. Then his expression eased a bit, and he said, “I won’t give up on her. I don’t ever know if I could.”
“Good man.” Then Bellamy drained his drink and stood. “You know I’m going to give her a talk too, right?’
“You can’t help yourself, can you?”
He just grinned in response. “She’s my baby sister. I have to make sure she’s happy, whether she wants to be or not.”
Two days later at dinnertime, Octavia walked up to the fire and flicked her brother in the side of his head. Scowling, he waved her off.
“I’m trying to eat, O.”
She plopped down on the log next to him, sneaking a piece of rabbit off his plate. “So am I.”
“Get your own dinner.”
“Too tired.” She reached out to his plate again.
He was ready this time, though, and moved it away in time. “Too bad.”
“You owe me, for butting into my relationship.”
“You should be thanking me. Seems you and Linc worked things out.”
Octavia paused, considering her answer carefully. He wasn’t wrong, because things were better with her and Lincoln. It still felt like cold water pouring down her back every time she saw him wearing that jacket, but they had talked it out–yelled it out first, actually. She understood better what that jacket meant to him: belonging, acceptance, importance. It was the same things she had felt when she had gotten her first tattoo, one that resembled Indra’s. She hated that jacket, but she loved Lincoln. Once she had puzzled that out–with help from Bell–Octavia had known she would have to give a little if she wanted her and Lincoln to make it.
“We’re working on it,” she finally said. She stared at the fire, watching the flames flicker and dance in the dark. It was either that or look at her brother, who would no doubt stare at her with overwhelming concern. He had enough to worry about other than her, and she didn’t want to see how heavy her problems weighed on him. They were her problems, and they should stay hers, but that’s never how it had worked with them.
Bellamy sighed understandingly beside her, his plate clinking as he set it on the ground. At first she resisted the arm that he put around her shoulders, but when his fingers drummed playfully on her arm, she huffed and leaned into him. Head propped on his chest, she muttered, “Thanks by the way. Even if I don’t want to encourage your busybody habits, I–we appreciate it.”
“You love him, O. And he loves you. It’s all I’ve ever wanted for you, and I wasn’t going to watch you get in your own way. Not with this.”
“I wasn’t getting in my own way!”
“Mmhmm.”
“Much,” she amended, smiling when she felt a chuckle rumble in his chest.
“I’ll still fight him if he breaks your heart,” Bellamy offered.
“Not necessary. He’d win. That’s why I’ll fight him if he does that.” Then she paused and added, “But he’s not going to.”
“I know.”
“Good.” Then she straightened, pulling out of his embrace. After pressing a quick kiss to his cheek, Octavia stood to leave.
“Night,” Bellamy called out.
She waved in response, headed for her and Lincoln’s rooms. He was no doubt already in bed, because he had an early shift tomorrow. Octavia smiled softly as she imagined crawling into bed with him, his solid arms wrapping around her protectively, comfortingly. She would press her ear against his chest, because she loved listening to his heartbeat, deep and steady and beating for her, just like hers did for him.
He was wrong that night by the stables when he told her that her heart was where her soul and herself resided. It wasn’t in her at all. It wasn’t in the woods or the Ark or the sky or the mountain either. It was in him, with him, no matter what he wore or where they lived. Lincoln was her home, her heart, the everything she had ever wanted.
She still hated that ratty jacket he wore, probably always would, but Octavia hoped someday–after this war, after they had found peace–that he wouldn’t need it anymore. And she planned on being around, right by his side, when that day came. So she would put up with it for now, for him. Lincoln always gave her what she needed, and she wanted to give him the same.