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Clean

Written for @abbygriffindaily‘s 4 Day Fall Fest Day 1. Favorite moments from season 5. Abby gets clean.

Most of this scene belongs to the writers of the 100. Abby and Marcus’ inner thoughts and the end are mine. 

Pairing: Abby Griffin/Marcus Kane

Setting: Season 5 Ep. 12

She packed up the last of the materials in the briefcase. Immensely thankful to be finished, after a grueling few days, but also happy. She’d made it through this first trial. She’d survived. Again. She hadn’t thought she’d come out on the other side of addiction again. She’d been sure that the bunker would take everything she had. Take Marcus. Take her life. But they’d survived. And she was clean. For good.

And then she saw it. One red pill.

She bent to pick it up, her hand shaking slightly. She wanted to scream at it. How dare you! After everything I’ve been through. I’m clean! Not going back again! Leave me the fuck alone!

But she steadied herself. This will not beat me again. I am in control. I choose my life. I don’t need this anymore. 

She held it in her palm, and this time, its weight didn’t crush her into the floor. It was only a pill. Nothing she hadn’t handled thousands of times before. 

She heard the door close, heard the heavy thump of his boots in the doorway. Her heart pounded in her chest. Clean. She was clean again. And he was here. She turned to face him.

“McCreary said you’d finished.” his voice was like a balm to her soul, and she breathed a sigh of relief at the sight of him.

“122 procedures in 5 days. Without pills.” her voice was steady again. He could hear the spark in her tone. Like she used to have. Before.

“I heard that too.” he smiled, and her eyes softened.

He was bursting with joy. But he didn’t want to spook her. To overwhelm her too fast. He didn’t know how this was supposed to go. He could cross the room in two long strides. Take her in his arms, burying his face in her soft hair. He could promise to never let her go again, as his arms wrapped around her small frame. But he didn’t know if that was what she wanted anymore. He didn’t know if he deserved her forgiveness, if she even had any left to offer. And he was so weary. 

“Where’s Clarke? I’d like to thank her for helping you, when I couldn’t.” his voice was clear, but she could hear the slight tremble when he said I couldn’t. Like it was his fault it all fell apart again. Like he couldn’t save her. From McCreary. From the pills. From herself. 

“I asked her and Madi to sleep at the church tonight. So we could talk.” and maybe something else, her mind supplied. But she didn’t know anymore. She didn’t know if he still wanted her after that devastating choice she’d had to make. But she had chosen him. She was clean now.  She just couldn’t do it on his timeline. She had to take the final step on her own.

She almost lost herself in the memory. The last time she got clean, in the bunker. She wondered if he was thinking of it too.

His hands roamed her body, almost reverently, lighting up nerves she’d sworn had died long ago. His mouth was everywhere, mumbling against her skin. 

“God, Abby. I’ve missed you.” He punctuated each sentence with a kiss. “I’ve missed this. So much.”

“Me too.” she groaned as he pressed harder against her.

She crossed the room, willing him to meet her eyes. He almost spoke, but then shook his head slightly.

“I know that look. What’s wrong?” she asked, imploring him to tell her the truth.

“McCreary won’t accept Wonkru’s surrender. They’re all gonna get wiped out. And I told them how to do it.” he sunk into the chair, the weight of another massacre threatening to crush him entirely.

“And I gave them the ability to.” she added, almost laughed at the bitter irony. Had they really ever though they could be the good guys? That they could change. They’d almost had it once, but it slipped through their fingers like grains of sand.

“I’m just so tired of having to choose the least…the least bad option. Octavia, McCreary. Starvation or…” cannibals, his mind taunted. You’re cannibals. 

“First we survive, then we get our humanity back. You told me that. Remember?” she reached for his hand, the touch gentle, but sparks pulsed through her blood. To have him so near again almost overwhelmed her senses.

“A long time ago.” she smiled, willing him back from this newest devastation. To her. Here.

He pulled his hand away, her body instantly reacting to the loss. But she pulled back as well. He needed space to sort this out. 

“I wish I still believed it.” his voice was cold, hard.

“We’ll get there.” she reassured gently.

He scrubbed his hands over his forehead, hiding from this pain for a moment.

She needed to get rid of this damn pill. Burn it before he even had the chance to think that she was going to go back again. She needed a fresh start. They both did. 

She stood, taking advantage of his momentary distraction, walking to the surgery table. She took a deep breath, and pulled the two halves of the pill apart. She tipped the capsules, the powder flowing out, blending into the sheet and dropping to the floor. Harmless. Relief swept through her. I am stronger than this, she repeated in her mind. 

She turned back to him, determined to free him, even for a moment, from whatever form of self imposed torture he’d soon exact.

“Marcus.” her voice startled him out of his contemplation, and he looked up at her, worry etching deeper lines in his skin. 

She crossed back to him, kneeled and removed his hands from his face. She implored him with her eyes to let go of this fight, to be with her in this moment.

“I’m here.” she spoke quietly, taking his hands in hers, pulling him into her. He followed willingly, swallowing her in his embrace. He held her so tightly, she almost believed he could will them somewhere else just with the power of his mind. Somewhere safe.

“Come to bed with me Marcus, just let me hold you.” she was gentle, but firm, rising as she said the words. 

She led him to the bed, bending to tug on the straps of her boots, while he quickly toed his off. He looked at her with such uncertainty that she placed her hands on his shoulders, pushing gently, guiding him to lie down. As she followed him down, he seemed to snap out of a fog, and he pulled her gently into his arms. He buried his face in her soft hair, letting her scent invade all his senses. He sighed, a shaky breath fighting its way out of his throat. He could taste relief, lying in her arms again. It was overwhelming, and so much more than he deserved. The effort of keeping himself away from her had taken its toll, and he clung to her for dear life. 

She rubbed soothing fingers along his back as he began to cry, silently at first, then heavy wracking sobs as the weight he’d taken on himself finally lifted away. 

He gripped her tightly, his fingers clawing at her back, as if he couldn’t keep her close enough.

Suddenly he pulled back, startling her, staring into her eyes.

“I’m sorry Abby. I’m so sorry. I should have never made you choose.” his voice caught, and tears still streamed down his face.

“Shush. It’s ok. I know you had to. It’s ok, Marcus.” she breathed, running her fingers along his beard.

“It’s not ok. I can’t lose you, Abby. I can’t.” he buried his face against her shoulder, leaving streaks of wetness as he shook his head.

“I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.” she urged him with a gentle hand on his neck to meet her eyes again.

She pulled his head down to hers, brushing their lips together. She needed to feel him. She could only hope he felt the same. He kissed her back gently, their lips meeting over and over. He swiped his tongue along her lower lip, making her groan, and tangled his fingers in her hair, pulling her flush against him.

It was glorious. Heat bloomed in her veins, rushing through her body as she pressed against him. She was certain now. 

His kiss was like coming home, and the bliss that surged through her as his lips parted to let her tongue slip into his mouth was better than any high she’d had on the pills. She deepened it, sucking gently on his lower lip. He was everything, and in this moment, it seemed as though no one could reach them. They were safe in their own small moment of peace.

[isolationshepherd-blog]

New Drabble inspired by 5x07 Not Enough Marcus says 'I love you' and Abby closes her eyes. She knows what's coming next; they've been here before. She forces herself to look at him. It's all there in his face. The strength of his love, his faith, his devotion. The weight of it is crushing her and she is already next to nothing. His words are beautiful, earnest and true. She can't bear to hear them. 'Choose', he says. He thinks he's enough but he's not, not anymore. Her silence speaks volumes and it's his turn to be crushed. Now you know, she thinks. Now you see me.

[isolationshepherd-blog]

Hey! I sooo loved your fic ‘Watching’ It gave me something to look forward to every week, especially when things weren’t great. So thanks for that. Your writing is a real gift.❤️Any chance you’re thinking of writing an epilogue/sequel for when they reunite years later?

Hi! Oh thank you so much and it means a lot that it provided a distraction for you when you needed it 💛 I have a long list of fics I want to write but I am sure I will come back to them at some point yes. Take care x

[isolationshepherd-blog]

The 100 | Choose | Kabby from Isolation Shepherd on Vimeo.

Kane gives Abby an ultimatum, but the result is not what he hoped. Kabby fandom cries. Hope is everything, fandom.

Second Kabby scene from 5x07

They don't belong to me, they belong to The CW and lots of other people and they are all awesome.

[isolationshepherd-blog]

The 100 | It Wasn't Enough | Kabby from Isolation Shepherd on Vimeo.

Abby's drug use is starting to affect her work, and Kane reaches breaking point. Kabby fandom reaches for the tissues...

First Kabby scene from episode 5x07

They don't belong to me, they belong to The CW and lots of other people and they are all awesome.

[isolationshepherd-blog]

The 100 | It Wasn't Enough | Kabby from Isolation Shepherd on Vimeo.

Abby's drug use is starting to affect her work, and Kane reaches breaking point. Kabby fandom reaches for the tissues...

First Kabby scene from episode 5x07

They don't belong to me, they belong to The CW and lots of other people and they are all awesome.

[isolationshepherd-blog]

Drabble Challenge Season 5

100 word drabbles. See https://archiveofourown.org/works/8245486/chapters/18894844 for previous drabbles from four seasons.

The Promise

The words don’t come easy. She pauses because they get stuck in her throat; she has to swallow to ease their passage. Marcus wants to hear them, needs to hear them, and in that moment she believes they are true. I will, she says. I promise. Something in her voice convinces him because he smiles, and hope makes his eyes shine. It’s a look of such pure love it’s like a knife to Abby’s heart, because she’s not worthy, and she knows it even if he doesn’t. I love you, he says, and her heart shatters. She doesn’t deserve him.

[isolationshepherd-blog]

Marcus Kane | Let Me Get What I Want | The 100 from Isolation Shepherd on Vimeo.

It's a difficult journey to redemption, especially when people have long memories.

Happy Birthday Henry Ian Cusick!

Song: The Smiths: Please, please, please let me get what I want Program: Vegas Pro14

[isolationshepherd-blog]

Broken People | The 100 | Kabby from Isolation Shepherd on Vimeo.

First video of Season 5! Where will Kane and Abby go from here?

[isolationshepherd-blog]

Whiskey in the Jar | Henry Ian Cusick | Compilation from Isolation Shepherd on Vimeo.

Compilation of Henry Ian Cusick drinking scenes for @marcuskanebeard birthday!

[isolationshepherd-blog]

A Christmas Pride and Prejudice

Chapter One

The letter arrived on the morning of the fifth day of December. The paper was of the richest cream, edged with gold, and stamped with the crest of the Sinclair family. It was, of course, addressed to Mr Griffin, and he intended to open it after he had finished his egg and buttered toast, but his wife had other ideas.

“My dear Mr Griffin,” she cried. “You vex me so. How can you sit there eating your breakfast as though nothing is happening in the world?”

“I am perfectly aware of what is happening in the world, my dear Mrs Griffin,” replied her husband. “If you were to read a newspaper occasionally you would know too.”

His wife issued a cry that sounded like that of a strangled cat. “The letter, Mr Griffin! The letter!”

Mr Griffin shook his newspaper, folded it carefully in half, and pretended to peruse an article in the lower section of the paper, as though it were of the utmost interest and importance.

At the opposite end of the table, his wife was working herself up into a state of apoplexy. Her hands were clutching the tablecloth, her bosom was heaving, her voice had become so shrill the glasses in the cabinet were quivering with anticipation.

“Mr Griffin! What a state of affairs it is when a husband ignores his wife as you do! What about your daughters? Have you no care for them?”

“I have every care for them, and for you,” returned Mr Griffin. His calm replies were vexing his wife even more, and he brought the newspaper up to his face to conceal his smile.

“Indeed, you do not! For if you did, you would open the letter at once. The happiness of your daughters may be at stake!”

“I dare say the happiness of our daughters is not dependent on whether I open this letter before or after I eat my boiled egg. Whereas my own happiness most certainly is dependent upon satisfactory completion of my breakfast, in my own time.”

“Callie, Abby, pray implore your father, for he will not listen to his own dear wife.” Mrs Griffin put her hand to her forehead in a dramatic fashion designed to convey her complete and utter distress, as if everyone around the table were not already aware of her emotional state.

“Perhaps, father, it would be kinder to put mamma, and indeed the rest of us, out of her misery.” Abigail Griffin, the second eldest of the five Griffin daughters, spoke softly, her voice tinged with amusement. Caroline, the eldest Griffin girl, and known to the family as Callie, smiled in agreement.

Mr Griffin never could resist the desires of his favourite daughter. She rarely asked for anything, unlike the youngest three, who were silly girls with an inflated sense of their own importance. He looked at his wife, at her red face and bulging eyes. Where did they get that from? Thank heavens for Callie and Abby, for without them he had no doubt he would have been devoured long ago by the women in his family, like a lamb at the mercy of a pack of hungry wolves.

He sighed dramatically, although it was purely for effect. He was as interested as the rest of the family to behold the contents of the letter.

“Very well, very well. Pass me my letter opener, Abby.” He cut the seal and unfolded the letter slowly, making the most of the moment.

“Hurry up, dear, for heaven’s sake.”

Mr Griffin did not respond to his wife. He adjusted his glasses, cleared his throat, and began to read the letter aloud to his family.

Dear Mr Griffin

It would be my great honour if you and your family would agree to join me and a select number of guests at Weatherton for the Christmas holiday. Guests are to arrive no earlier than the fifteenth of December and depart on the twenty-sixth. Please reply by return so that appropriate arrangements can be made.

Yours faithfully,

Jacapo Sinclair, Esq.

The squeals emanating from the lower half of the table, where Mrs Griffin and their three youngest daughters were seated, were so loud Mr Griffin was forced to put his fingers in his ears.

“My dears!” Shouted Mrs Griffin, the loudest of them all. “Oh, my world, what a treat! I believe Mr Sinclair has above £4,000 a year. We shall have Callie married off before the fortnight is out, and perhaps even Abby too. He is bound to have many eligible friends.”

“And me, mamma, and me!” Harper Griffin flung her arms around her father. “Thank you, papa!”

“Well now, there’s no need for that. I did nothing more than open the letter. And you are too young to be thinking about marriage.”

“I am sixteen in two months’ time!”

“That old! I shall draft my reply at once, for there has been far too much wailing and screaming for one morning already.” Mr Griffin stood up, tucked his newspaper under his arm, and left the room.

“Your father is a wonderful man, girls,” exclaimed Mrs Griffin when he had gone. “We are so lucky to have him.”

“That’s not what you were saying a moment ago, mamma,” said Abby.

“Oh, shush. You know perfectly well he adores us and we him. A select number of guests. Oh, what a delight! It is a fine thing that we are amongst this number, a fine thing indeed. Now.” She clapped her hands together. “There is a lot to do. You will all need new dresses. There are bound to be many balls and you can’t wear the same thing each night.”

“We should go into Polis, mamma, to see what is new,” said Clarke, who was the second youngest, and only marginally less silly than Harper.

“The dresses we have are perfectly adequate,” said Octavia. “Do we have to go to Weatherton for Christmas?”

“Your sisters are in need of husbands, Octavia, and lord knows there are no decent men in Polis. This is the perfect opportunity for them to make a good match. You will be a good girl and do as you are told.”

“Yes mamma.”

Harper and Clarke left the room arm in arm, chattering excitedly about the preparations to come. Octavia trailed gloomily behind them.

“Well, girls,” said Mrs Griffin. “What do you think to that?”

“I hope we will have a wonderful time, mamma,” replied Callie.

“Of course you will! Mr Sinclair will fall in love with you the moment he sets his eyes on you.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that, mamma.”

“Nonsense! Why wouldn’t he? And Abby, my dear. If you can try to be less disagreeable, I’m sure there will be someone there for you as well.”

Abigail smiled. She was well used to her mother’s less than subtle admonishments of her character. Callie was the favourite child of Mrs Griffin, just as Abigail was the favourite of Mr Griffin. It was ever thus.

“I shall be as I always am, mamma. Any man must take me as he finds me.”

“Well then, we had better make sure he finds you looking as presentable as possible. Go and prepare yourselves, girls, for we shall leave for Polis presently.”

Abigail sat at her dressing table, examining her features whilst her sister brushed her hair. She wasn’t beautiful like Callie, who had hair so dark it was almost black, olive skin, and deep brown eyes. Abigail had chestnut brown hair and the same brown eyes as her sister. Her skin was paler than Callie’s and she thought herself unremarkable.

“You’re beautiful,” said Caroline.

“Oh, I will never be as beautiful as you, but I do not mind about such things. I wonder who will be at the gathering?”

“I heard Mr Sinclair has two sisters. The eldest is married but the younger one lives with him. She is about your age, Abby.”

“I should be happy to make another friend. Perhaps Hannah Green will attend, and the Millers?”

“Dear Hannah. It has been an age since last we saw her.”

“It has. Oh, my dear Callie. Mamma is going to be impossible over the next ten days.”

“Indeed, it will be a trying time for us, and for poor father.”

Abigail laughed. “Yes. I expect he and I will be taking many long walks in the countryside between now and then.”

“Don’t leave me alone with mamma, dear Abby.”

Abigail kissed her sister on the cheek. “I would never do that to you, my dear.”

---

The time between receiving the letter and the day they were to attend Weatherton passed as Abigail had predicted. She endured three trips to Polis for dress fittings and the purchase of so many adornments they would need an extra carriage just for their luggage. Mrs Griffin was like a clockwork toy that is wound a little tighter every day. Her voice became higher, her nerves more stretched with every hour that passed. Abigail was quite prepared for something to spring loose at any moment, for tension such as that could not be contained for long. Father had taken to locking himself in his study and ignoring all pleas for him to examine the newest dress or discuss what was the latest fashion regarding the height of necklines and hemlines. Abigail had walked for miles through the country lanes surrounding their home. Caroline had remained demure and serene throughout, like a swan gliding over a lake. Nothing ever perturbed her. The younger girls had finally lost their voices on day seven as a result of their constant chatter, and had been mercifully silent ever since in order to recover in time.

Now they were all squashed together in their carriage, and the noise of their chatter was rising along with the excitement as Weatherton came into view. Everybody in Polis knew that Mr Sinclair had inherited nearly a hundred thousand pounds from his father and had bought the estate, and some property in London. The house was large, of course, about five times the size of their own property, and set in a hundred acres of parkland. The butler showed them to their rooms where they were to prepare for the ball that evening. Abigail chose her favourite of her new dresses; a cream silk with a low neckline that emphasised her elegant neck and firm bosom. A simple cross made of garnets lay at her throat. Her long hair was curled and upswept, and she wove white silk flowers and a string of pearls through it. She donned a pair of long, silk gloves and then examined herself in the mirror. “You’ll do,” she said, and laughed.

The ballroom was large, with dark green walls, hung with paintings and candelabras. Hundreds of beeswax candles lit the room, giving it a warm glow, making the cavernous space seem intimate, seductive.

“I have never seen a more well-appointed room,” declared Mrs Griffin. “Mr Sinclair clearly has wonderful taste.”

“I doubt this is any of his doing, mamma,” replied Abigail. “He only moved in a couple of months ago.”

“Nonsense. He will have directed its décor to his taste I am certain.”

“I’m sure you are my right, my dear, as always.” Mr Griffin took his wife’s arm and led the family further into the room. They were at once spotted by Mr Green, a long-time friend of the Griffin family whose daughter, Hannah, was a good friend of Caroline and Abigail.

“The Griffins are here. Ah, how wonderful. My dear, my dear, the Griffins have arrived.” He turned to his wife, a small woman of indeterminate age beset by a stoop and a permanent frown. She was the opposite of jolly Mr Green in every way.

Mr Griffin and Mr Green shook hands. Whilst her parents and the Greens talked, and the younger Griffin girls ran to their friends, Abigail surveyed the room. The Millers were here with their son Nathan, and the Murphys with John. Mr Jackson, the village doctor, was deep in conversation with Miss Martin. There were perhaps a dozen families present and a few eminent individuals, totalling around a hundred people, but as yet there was no sign of the host. A trio of musicians comprising a flautist, a violinist and a pianist were playing a minuet, but no one was dancing. There was a tension in the air, despite the friendly chatter, for everyone was awaiting the arrival of their generous host.

Abigail knew the moment the Sinclairs entered the room, despite not looking in the direction of the door, because the music suddenly became louder as the room fell silent. She moved to stand next to Caroline and Hannah Green, and together they watched the proceedings. There were five people in the party.

“That is Mr Sinclair,” said Hannah, indicating a handsome young man of around two and twenty. He had dark, curly hair and a warm smile. He was followed by a young, blonde woman. She held her nose high in the air, as though a bad smell floated permanently beneath it.

“The blonde lady is one of his sisters, I am not certain which.”

“I do not feel she is happy with what she sees,” whispered Abigail to Caroline.

“Perhaps we are too provincial for her,” replied her sister with a smile.

Behind the blonde sister was another dark-haired woman and a man. He was considerably older than her and both wore smiles that were no doubt meant to convey warmth, but they must have found the effort difficult for their mouths were turned down at the edges.

At the rear of the group, standing close to the wall, was a tall, handsome man with dark hair and deep brown eyes. He held himself stiffly, arms behind his back, head high. He stared straight ahead, a pained expression on his face.

“Who is that, Hannah?” asked Abigail.

“I do not know, I do not believe Mr Sinclair has a brother.”

“He does not look happy to be here either.”

“Perhaps he is unwell,” said Caroline.

“You always think the best of people, my dear sister. It is your greatest virtue. I, on the other hand, do not. I suspect he would rather be anywhere else in the world than in Weatherton at this precise moment, and that is why he looks so pained.”

“Oh, Abby!”

Abigail linked her arm through her sister’s. “Let us go find mamma and papa, for the sooner we are introduced to Mr Sinclair, the sooner he will fall madly in love with you.”

“I do not think that will happen, dear Abby.”

“Why should it not? You are by the far the most beautiful girl in the room. He cannot fail to see that.”

The sisters found their parents just as the Sinclair family were being introduced to them.

Mr Griffin smiled as they approached. “Ah, my dears, where have you been? May I present Mr Sinclair. This is my eldest daughter, Miss Caroline Griffin, and my second eldest, Abigail.”

Abigail and Caroline curtsied and Mr Sinclair bowed. “I am honoured to make your acquaintance. These are my sisters, Miss Diana Sinclair and Mrs Jordan, and Mr Jordan.”

The girls curtsied again. The sisters nodded in return.

“And the gentleman?” Abigail looked at the dark-haired man who was standing a short distance away from the rest of the group. He closed his eyes for longer than was necessary, before opening them and looking at Abigail. His look was so full of disdain Abigail had to swallow a smile.

“This is my good friend, Mr Marcus Kane.”

“I’m honoured to meet you, Mr Kane,” said Abigail, as she curtsied. He looked at her for moment, gave a curt nod, then turned and walked across the room.

“Well!” exclaimed Mrs Griffin.

“Now, now, dear. Let us go and find Mr Green.” Mr Griffin led his wife away before she could say anything that would embarrass the family in front of Mr Sinclair.

“Perhaps you would care to dance with me, Miss Griffin?” Mr Sinclair took Caroline’s arm and led her to the dancefloor. Abigail retreated to the edge of the room and watched as her sister and Mr Sinclair danced. He seemed like a pleasant young man, with easy manners, unlike his friend, who was quite the rudest person Abigail had ever met. Mr Kane was standing alone at the other end of the room, not looking at anyone, or engaging with his fellow man. People approached him, and then veered away as though they had encountered an immovable object hitherto invisible.

Abigail danced twice with Nathan Miller, and once with Mr Sinclair, and was sitting and fanning herself to cool down when she saw Mr Kane approach Mr Sinclair. She was close enough to hear their conversation.

“When will this interminable ball end, Sinclair?”

“The time would go a lot quicker if you danced, Kane. I would much prefer to see you dancing than standing alone in the corner of the room.”

“I most certainly would not prefer to dance. You know how I hate it. It is only tolerable if I am acquainted with my partner and there is no one I know in this room other than your sisters, who are both engaged.”

“If you spoke to people occasionally, you might be better acquainted with many of them. I swear I have never met such agreeable and handsome women as are present tonight.”

“You are dancing with the only attractive girl in the room,” said Mr Kane, looking at the eldest Miss Griffin.

“She is quite the loveliest creature, isn’t she? Her sister is sitting just behind you. Why don’t we go and speak to her? I’m sure she is just as agreeable as her sister.”

Mr Kane turned to look at Abigail, and caught her eye, before withdrawing his gaze and turning back to Mr Sinclair.

“She is tolerable, I suppose, and would suit the taste of some, but she is not enough to tempt me. If she is so agreeable why is she sitting alone when there are more men than women at this ball? She should be in demand, but she is not. Perhaps you should return to your more agreeable partner, for I am not interested in any other.”

Mr Sinclair went back to dancing with Caroline, and Mr Kane left the room. Abigail’s already dire impression of Kane had not improved by her overhearing that conversation. He had caught her eye, knew she could hear him, and had continued to denigrate her regardless. She was not a vain girl, and as we have already seen, she thought herself unremarkable, so his words did not hurt her as much as amuse her, and she spent a good deal of the rest of the evening telling her friends in spirited detail every word of the conversation.

The rest of the evening passed pleasantly for all the Griffin family. Mr Sinclair danced with Caroline more times than any of the other girls in the room. Despite being merely tolerable in the eyes of Mr Kane, Abigail kept a full dance card, and she was exhausted by the time the family finally made their way up to their suite of rooms in the early hours of the morning.

Mrs Griffin was in high spirits, thrilled at the attention paid to her eldest daughter by their host, and full of news she had heard about a certain Mr Kane.

“He has a full twenty thousand, you know. He is the richest man we have ever had the privilege to meet in Hertfordshire. He has an estate in Derbyshire that is worth ten Weathertons. What do you think to that, girls?”

“If only he was rich in manners he would be quite the catch indeed,” replied Abigail.

“You have not heard, mamma,” said Caroline, “that our dear Abby is only tolerable in his eyes, and not worth a moment of his time?”

“Indeed I have not! Our Abigail not handsome enough to dance with? Not worthy of his time! Well! What a high and mighty, conceited man he is! He is not worthy of you, my dear, a most horrid, disagreeable man. Mr Griffin, I do wish you had been there to put him down.”

“I wish that too my dear, although I’m quite sure Abigail was capable of handling him herself if she so desired.”

“Indeed father,” replied Abigail. “I did not wish to waste my breath on him. A ruder, more contemptuous man I have never met. I shall enjoy spending the rest of my time here finding ways to either avoid him, or annoy him.”

“That’s my girl,” said Mr Griffin, and he gave Abigail a hug.

Later, as Abigail was getting ready for bed, Caroline entered her room. The girls sat together on the bed and talked about the events of that evening.

“Oh, Abby, I do think Mr Sinclair is the most divine man. So polite, and attentive. I was quite surprised he asked to dance with me so many times.”

Abigail smiled at her sister. “I am not at all surprised. There was no one else prettier or lovelier than you. I agree he is a fine man, and I give you both my whole-hearted blessing.”

“It was just one night, Abby.”

“Perhaps, but I saw the way he was looking at you, as though you were the sun and all the planets.”

“I am sorry that his friend was so rude to you, Abby. You are worth any man’s time.”

“Oh, I know that, have no fear. I shall only ever marry someone who loves me for who I am, and who I can love deeply and with all my heart. I shall probably be an old maid until I die.”

She laughed, but Caroline did not.

“Don’t say that, dearest sister. You will find someone, I know you will.”

“At least I am spared the attentions of Mr Kane for the rest of the holiday. And I don’t mind being an old maid. I shall be a wicked aunt to the dozens of children you will have with Mr Sinclair, and spoil them all rotten.”

“My dear Abby. Good night dearest sister.” Caroline gave Abigail a kiss and then left the room.

Abigail got into bed, and thought about Mr Kane. Such a cold, arrogant man, proud and aloof. She was not going to let a man like that spoil her time at Weatherton. Mr Marcus Kane didn’t know it, but he had met his match in Miss Abigail Griffin.

[isolationshepherd-blog]

Marcus Kane and his son

[isolationshepherd-blog]

Kane in pain! Sorry! #MarcusCrushMonday #MarcusKane #The100 #HenryIanCusick

[isolationshepherd-blog]

Set after episode 1x11 The Calm. How did Kane get the bandage we see on his hand in episode 12?  Also on AO3 at http://archiveofourown.org/works/12701190

After The Calm

Abby sorts the surgical implements she has just cleaned, arranging, and rearranging them until they are in a perfect order of usefulness. The task is soothing, giving her a sense of calm after the chaos of the last few hours. Once she has finished laying them out on the blue cloth covering the table, she touches them, tracing their outlines, feeling the cold steel even through latexed fingers. Each tool has its purpose, not just to cut, or slice, or puncture, but to heal, relieve, secure. She is at home here, in Medical, with everything she needs to hand. The fans are working again, and the air is cool, and as sweet as recycled air can ever be.

How different to earlier, when she was cast adrift, unsure of where she was, and so hot she struggled to breathe. She had tried to stay conscious, fighting the urge to sleep, but the heat sapped her energy; she could feel it leaking out of her with every bead of sweat. She knew that her body was shutting down, trying to prioritise her vital organs, which were overworked trying to keep her cool. They were failing. It’s true that you can feel your life slipping away. It’s not like a long dark tunnel or a journey, it’s more of a relinquishing. You fight, and you fight, and then you realise that you can’t stop it, and acceptance follows, and with that peace. It is like watching a boat come untethered from its mooring. You try to grab the rope, but it’s out of reach, and all you can do is watch it drift further out to sea. The waves are calm, but relentless, the sun is setting on the horizon, and the sky is flushed orange. The boat is just a speck of black now, briefly illuminated against the sky until it merges with the sunset, and is gone. It is so beautiful and peaceful that you don’t realise it will never come back. That this is the end of everything. The end of you.

She was watching that boat as it drifted towards the horizon when she felt strong arms shaking her, heard a familiar voice she couldn’t place telling her to wake up. She had thought she was delirious when she opened her eyes and saw the face of Marcus Kane inches from her own, his eyes boring into hers, dark and pleading. His hands were cradling her face, and she had stared at him, trying to bring the scene into focus, to work out whether this was real or a dream. A memory of strong arms flinging her into the service bay bubbled to the surface, not Kane’s arms, but the arms of a rebel. One of Diana’s treacherous supporters. The fog lifted from her mind and suddenly she knew exactly where she was and what had happened. Kane had smiled at her, relief and something like happiness on his face. He pulled her closer and she rested her head on his chest. They were both sweat-soaked and burning, but it felt good, safe, right. He was solid, and she clung to him, let him tether her to him, so that they were each other’s anchor. How strange, she remembered thinking. How strange, that it should be him, Marcus Kane, who saved her.

When she can no longer justify rearranging the tools any further, Abby walks through to the makeshift intensive care room, where Jackson is monitoring a patient, a young girl who was injured in the bomb blast.

“How’s she doing?”

“Still stable. Her vital signs are weak but she’s holding on.”

Abby goes over to the girl, strokes her ash blonde hair.

“Come on, sweetheart. You can do it.” There is no response, and Abby doesn’t really expect one. The girl has been in a coma since she was brought in. Abby doesn’t know who she is, has never treated her before, and nobody has come to look for her. Her parents must have died in the bomb blast, or escaped in the dropship. It has to be the former, for surely no parent would leave their child behind. Abby has sent her own daughter to Earth of course, but she would never have gone herself without Clarke.

“How are you feeling? You look pale.” Jackson had treated Abby when Kane brought her to Medical after they had both recovered enough to get out of the service bay. Her young assistant had not wanted to discharge her, but that was more because he likes to fuss over her than any medical need. A saline injection and plenty of fluids was all Abby had needed.

“I’m fine.”

“You always say that.”

“Because I always am. In fact, I came in to tell you to go and get some rest. I’ll take over here.”

“You’re the one who needs the rest, Abby.”

“I really don’t. I slept heaven knows how many hours away in the service bay. Now go.”

Jackson squeezes her arm and heads out of the door. She lied to him, of course, she is bone tired, but he has been working longer than she has and needs a break. She hears him talking to someone in the other room, and after a quick check of the monitors she pokes her head around the door to see who has arrived. Kane is standing next to the treatment table. He’s still in the clothes he was wearing earlier, although he’s added a jacket now that it’s cooler. His face is streaked with dirt, and his hair, normally so neat and contained, is sticking out in every direction. A few strands hang together in a stiff curl that points accusingly at Abby. She wants to reach out and smooth it down, because it’s making her feel guilty of something but she doesn’t know what. The urge is so strong she has to curl her fingers into fists to keep them by her side.

“Marcus.”

“Abby.”

“You haven’t been home yet, I see,”

He shakes his head. “I haven’t had time. It doesn’t look as though you’ve had any rest either.”

“You’re the second person to say that. Do I look that bad?”

“No. It’s just.” Kane gestures to her clothes. “You look the same as when I found you.  Apart from the lab coat. And your face is...” He trails off.

“What about my face?”

“It’s dirty. Really dirty.”

“Oh.” Abby rubs a couple of fingers across her cheeks and then inspects them. The cream gloves are streaked with black. She had washed her hands, of course, as soon as she was cleared by Jackson. Scrubbed them clean, but she hadn’t given a second thought to any other part of her body, just swept up some loose hairs into her ponytail and got on with her work.

She feels judged by Kane, even though he has only made the same observation of her that she has made of him. “I washed my hands!” she says, hating that her words sound so defensive. He always does this to her, even when he doesn’t mean to.

“Of course.” He nods and half smiles.

Abby sighs. It’s been a long day and she’s not in the mood for Kane and his silent condescension. It’s churlish of her, given that he saved her life, but she’s too tired for politeness.

“What can I do for you, Marcus?”

“I just came to see how you are.”

“Oh.” Now she feels bad, and she softens, gives him a warm smile.

“I didn’t get a chance to speak to you earlier, after we came here. Jackson pushed me out of the way. He’s protective of you.”

Abby laughs. “Yes, he can be.”

Kane nods again. He’s standing awkwardly, his right hand swinging slightly by his side, his left hand held at waist height, fingers curled. “So then. Are you okay?” he repeats.

“Yes, I’m fine. Are you?”

“Yes.”

He doesn’t look fine. There’s something about the way he’s holding his hand that sets her doctor sense tingling. There are beads of sweat forming on his brow, despite the cold.

“Is something wrong with your hand?”

He looks down at his hand, tries to uncurl his fingers, and winces.

“I burned myself earlier.”

“Let me see.” She takes his hand, lifts it up so she can see it closely. It’s not just burned, the outer dermis has been ripped off his palm and his fingers, leaving the layer beneath exposed and raw. It must be extremely painful, but he says nothing, just waits silently while she examines it.

“Marcus!” She looks up at him. His eyes are dark, and narrowed, his mouth set tight, lips curled up slightly at the edges as he fights the pain. “This needs treating. You have dirt and God knows what in the wound already. It will get infected if it remains exposed to the air. Why didn’t you come here earlier?”

“You needed care yourself, and Jackson was busy. It’s not a life-threatening injury.”

“You’re wrong. An infection in a wound this size could have serious consequences. Tell me how you did it while I clean myself up.”

Abby goes to the sink while Kane talks, strips off her dirty gloves, and washes her hands. Then she thinks about her face, and how she must look to Kane, and washes that too. The water is black when she is finished. She sterilises her hands again and snaps on a fresh pair of gloves.

“I knew the handle would be hot,” he is saying, “but not that hot. I really didn’t feel the pain, though, until later.”

“That’s adrenaline for you. I need to examine it properly. Take your jacket off.”

Kane tries to undo his zipper one-handed, but it gets stuck and he struggles to shift it.

“Here, let me.” Abby leans in, and grabs hold of the zipper. It won’t budge, and the teeth seem to have got caught in the wrong place. “Dammit.”

“You need to push it back up again before trying to pull it down.”

“I know how to undo a zipper, Marcus.”

“I can help.”

He brings his good hand up to grab hold of the zipper, his fingers tangling with hers and they fight each other for a moment, each of them trying to get a grip. Finally, Kane gets the zipper to move up, and Abby holds his jacket straight to give him a smooth run as he pulls it down again. The zipper undoes and his jacket flaps open.

“Teamwork,” he says, and Abby laughs.

“I wouldn’t place a bet on us to win any trophies.”

“I don’t know about that. We got there in the end.” He gives her a shy half smile, a look she hasn’t seen on his face for many years. It flusters her, makes her face warm, and she changes the subject.

“How did you get it on in the first place?”

“Sinclair helped me.”

She helps him shrug his good arm out of the jacket and then eases it over his injured hand. At last he is free, and she can get a better look at him. She rolls up his sleeve so her view is unencumbered. His arm is peppered purple and blue with bruises.

“Where are these from?”

He shrugs. “Probably from crawling through the vent. There were cables and all sorts of obstructions in my way.”

She peers at his hand so that he can’t see her face, because there are tears pricking her eyes. The lengths to which he had gone in order to rescue the survivors were clear to her now. What he must have endured, crawling through that narrow, blistering shaft! He was so matter-of-fact about it, like it was nothing, another day at the office. It was unlike him, to be so self-sacrificing, and yet the way he had gone about it, determined to reach his goal no matter what lay in his way, was quintessential Marcus Kane.

She gets herself under control, and looks at him. “I’ll have to cut away some of this damaged skin so that I can clean the wound properly. I’ll give you a local anaesthetic.”

She selects a needle from her array of implements, and goes to the cupboard to get the anaesthetic. When she returns he is perched on the examining table, cradling his hand.

“Hold out your hand.”

“I don’t need the injection. It’s fine.”

“Marcus, it will be very painful without it.”

“It’s very painful now.”

“Just close your eyes, and turn your head away.”

He does as she asks, and she fills the needle with the dose. His hand is trembling when she holds it.

“I need to tell you something,” she says. “No, don’t look at me.”

“What is it?”

“When we were young, it was me who glued all of Captain Morrison’s equipment to his desk and left your notepad there to point to your guilt.”

Kane stiffens, his eyes fly open, and he starts to turn towards her.

She slides the needle quickly in and out while he is working up his indignation.

“That was you? I got in a lot of trouble for that.”

“I know. I’m sorry.”

He pulls his hand away. “I don’t think I trust you not to poison me with that thing.”

“Too late. It’s done.”

He peers at his hand, looking for the puncture mark. Abby smiles as she picks up her scalpel.

“Now, give me that hand back.”

He lets her take his hand and looks away while she carefully excises the broken skin from the edges of the wound.

“Why did you do it?”

“Glue Morrison’s stuff, or blame you?”

“Both.”

“You had annoyed me.”

“Well, that is nothing new.”

“No. Some things never change.”

Kane smiles at her reply. “What had I done?”

“Honestly, I can’t remember, but it must have been really bad because I didn’t confess.”

“I was sent to the sky box for a week!”

“I remember that part.”

She pours some antiseptic wash into a bath and bathes his hand with it, cleaning the dirt and the grit out of the crevices.

“Didn’t you feel the slightest bit guilty?”

“I must have, because I still remember it nearly thirty years later.”

“I always wondered who hated me that much.”

Abby pauses, his words cutting into her with the sharpness of her scalpel. Her heart rate picks up and sweat forms on her hands inside her gloves.

“I didn’t hate you. I’ve never hated you, Marcus.”

He doesn’t answer, and a pain grips Abby’s chest, a constriction that makes it hard for her to breathe. She holds his hand tightly, feeling the warmth of him, the life that is pulsing through his veins. For so many years now she has barely thought of him as a human being, with all the complexities of character that comes with humanity. He has been an obstacle; a stubborn, infuriating, cold statue whose mission in life it seems to her is to block her at every turn. She had forgotten he was a man, made of flesh and blood, who hurts when he is wounded, feels the pain inflicted on him. She had thought him incapable of such emotions, and he had done nothing to dispel that idea, until recently.

“Hold this.” She takes his good hand and places it under the damaged one so he is supporting himself, and goes to the cupboard again to find antiseptic cream and a bandage. She breathes deeply, trying not to think of him sitting alone in the prison cell wondering who would do such a thing to him. He had been so cocky when he was sent there, as though his punishment was a minor inconvenience, and she had been so infuriated with him for a reason she could no longer remember, she had vowed not to own up until he showed some humility, which of course he never had. She should have known it was all bravado, but when you’re young you take other people at face value, and she had fallen for his no big deal attitude.

She turns, and sees that he is watching her. She hesitates, and they look into each other’s eyes, and she can’t tell what he is thinking. He is closed up as always, whereas she is quite sure she is an open book, and he is reading every page. She takes another deep breath and strides over to him, takes up his hand again with little ceremony and squeezes some cream onto the wound.

“Be gentle with me,” he says.

“Of course I will. Why would you say that?”

“You seem a little angry.”

“Yes. Well.” She clears her throat. “I don’t hate you.”

“It is bothering you, what I said?”

“I hadn’t realised you had felt that way about what happened. I brought it up to distract you, and now…”

“It is a mystery solved, that is all.”

That is not all, and they both know it, but for some reason he seems content to let it be; it is Abby who wants to pursue it, but to what conclusion?

“You know you’re infuriating, don’t you?” She massages the cream into his palm and across his fingers, and Kane lets his head drop back a little, closes his eyes.

“To you, perhaps.” He lets out a sigh that seems almost of pleasure, or at least contentment.

“Only to me?” Abby laughs but not unkindly, and he smiles.

“Hmmm.”

“Does this feel good?”

“Yes. It’s soothing.”

“It will hurt once the anaesthetic wears off.”

“That’s life.”

She studies him. Who is this man who risked his life to save his people, people he had had no qualms about jettisoning from the Ark just a few months ago when he wrote his population reduction plan? The events of the last weeks have changed him, humbled him. He is softer in every way, his actions, his words, how he looks at her, how he held her so tightly, so gratefully. She unpacks the bandage and puts the cotton pad on the wound.

“Hold that in place.”

He does as she asks, and she wraps the bandage around the edges and over his fingers.

“You can move it now.” He lets go and she bandages the rest of his hand neatly, seals the edge with tape. “There.” She admires her own handiwork, and so does Kane, turning his hand over to inspect it.

“Thank you,” he says.

“You’re welcome.”

He doesn’t move, and neither does she. They look at each other again.

“I will give you some antibiotics and painkillers. You will need to see me again in a couple of days so I can examine your progress.”

“If we have a couple of days.” He jumps down off the table, and goes to pick up his jacket.

“What do you mean?”

“The extent of damage to the Ark is greater than we feared. Jaha has called a Council meeting this afternoon to discuss it. You will come?”

“I’m no longer on the Council, as you know.”

“That doesn’t matter now.” He swings his jacket over his shoulder and turns to leave. Abby puts her hand on his arm.

“Marcus.” He turns back. “There’s something I haven’t said yet, not properly.”

“What is it?”

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For saving me.” She takes his bandaged hand, brings it to her lips and places a gentle kiss on his knuckles. Then before he can answer she turns around and gathers up the used tools, takes them to the sink and starts to clean them. She can sense him standing there, looking at her, and then she hears him sigh, and the clatter of his boots on the metal floor as he leaves. She turns then, and looks at the space he has vacated. She’s not sure why she kissed his hand, out of gratitude perhaps, but it also feels like an acknowledgement, a wiping clean of the slate, that what is past is past. They have weathered the storm of their history together, and perhaps now calmer times are ahead, however short they may be.

[isolationshepherd-blog]

Kabby Halloween Crack | The 100 | Kabby from Isolation Shepherd on Vimeo.

Enjoy a spooky Halloween in the company of our favourite family

Songs: Halloween Theme The Shining Theme Fire, Arthur Brown The Monster Mash The Addams Family theme

Program: Vegas Pro14

[isolationshepherd-blog]

August 10th 2148

It’s late for making a diary entry; past midnight and I haven’t slept for over twenty-four hours. I wanted to get this down while it’s still fresh in my mind, though. It’s a miracle I’m even here to update the diary. There have been a few times over the last few hours when I thought the end had come. I promised myself when I started writing the diary again that I would be honest within its pages because otherwise what is the point? If I can’t tell the truth in these writings then they have no meaning or purpose. So I’m going to write the events down as best I can remember, even though some parts of the tale are painful to recall. I think that a page has been turned today in more ways than one and maybe a different future beckons.

I’ve been investigating Nygel for six months, trying to catch her in the act of committing any number of crimes of which I know she is guilty but have so far been unable to prove. Last week Abby told the Council that various medical supplies had been going missing for a couple of weeks and she’d finally had chance to take an inventory. She showed her report to the Council and the scale of the theft was shocking. Equipment and medications vital to the wellbeing of the Ark citizens were being pilfered on a large scale. I was surprised Abby hadn’t noticed this sooner but she has been working largely by herself for a while with Stevens over on Tesla Station and Jackson ill, so I suppose it was inevitable something would slip. I was tasked by the Council to investigate the thefts and it didn’t take me long to identify how the thief was smuggling the supplies out of Medical. There is a maintenance shaft running above Medical and I found that the screws holding the grille in place had been removed and the metal covering was fastened instead with cable ties. It was then a case of finding out where the shaft led but unfortunately when I crawled through there were a number of ways the smugglers could go. I sent my men through the maze of shafts and they found a route that led to a room conveniently next to the Mess where Nygel does her legitimate work.

I decided to stake out the shaft. There was a crossroads of sorts where two tunnels intersected, and room to hide down the side shaft which offered a good view of the main shaft and anyone crawling down it. My men and I took turns doing the surveillance and last night it was my shift. It was a strange place to spend a night, hot and noisy. The shaft’s metal walls thrummed with the sound of machinery, the vibrations rippling through my body as I sat with my back pressed against a row of cables and my feet braced against the wall opposite. It was uncomfortable, but manageable.  

A couple of hours into the surveillance I heard movement in the shaft but it seemed to be coming from Medical rather than the direction of the Mess. Had the thief broken into Medical another way? But why were they leaving this way if that were the case? I got my taser ready and crept closer to the junction of the two shafts. There was definitely someone crawling along the shaft; they weren’t being quiet about it and I could hear them breathing loudly with exertion. I held the taser in front of me, my thumb on the button and waited until a head appeared at the junction. I yelled “Stop!” and switched the taser on. The electrical light was bright and bounced off the metal walls, dazzling me. I moved to strike the intruder on the back when a voice I recognised shouted back at me.

“Don’t! It’s me. It’s Abby.”

I stopped my arm mid-air, confused for a moment.

“Abby? What the hell?”

“Can you turn that thing off?”

I realised I still had the taser extended so I switched it off and we were plunged into darkness for a moment, although my eyes were still seeing bright flickers from the taser. I felt Abby’s hand on my knee as she groped blindly for something to hold on to. I took her hand and pulled her into the side shaft. We both sat there for a moment, breathing hard, gathering ourselves. After a minute my eyes readjusted to the gloom of the shaft and I turned to look at her.

“I could have killed you!”

“Don’t be dramatic. Third degree burns at best.”

She gave me a look that’s half sarcastic smirk and half frustration. I get it a lot.

“What are you doing here? I thought you were the thief.”

“Yeah, sorry. I’ve tried waiting patiently for a breakthrough but I couldn’t stand doing nothing so I thought I’d come and help, make sure you don’t fall asleep.”

I didn’t rise to the bait of her last comment. Not being able to do anything has probably been killing Abby for the last week. She has to be at the heart of the action.

“You’d better sit quietly, then. All noise is amplified in here and the thief will hear the slightest sound, if they haven’t already thanks to you.”

She glared at me but didn’t speak, just settled herself down against the opposite wall with her legs stretched out in front of her. Unfortunately, she was on the side closest to the shaft entrance.

“Not there! You’ll get in my way if I have to move quickly.”

“For heaven’s sake, Kane.”

“I don’t know why you’re mad at me. I didn’t ask you here. Ow!”

She caught my shin with her foot as she scrambled over my body. I’m not sure if it was an accident or deliberate.

“Just sit still and be quiet, if that’s at all possible.”

“OK!”

This time she sat next to me but with a gap between us large enough to sail a ship through. She drew her knees up to her chin, hugging them tight. Her head was turned towards me. I could tell she was itching to speak but I looked away and concentrated on the maintenance shaft. I could hear her breathing, though; slow deep breaths like she was meditating or something. I spoke without looking at her.

“Can you breathe a little quieter?”

“What do you mean? I’m not breathing loudly.”

“You are! You sound like one of those artificial respirators you put your patients on. Maybe you’re in need of one.”

I turned to look at her. She had her hand over her chest as though she were testing the strength of her breaths.

“That’s funny. It was hard work crawling along that shaft and then being assaulted by you. I’m still slightly out of breath.”

“Then might I suggest you visit the Ark gym more often.”

You wouldn’t think someone could glare and roll their eyes at the same time but Abby can. As I was preparing to glare back I heard a scuffling noise from the direction of the main shaft. I put my fingers to my lips automatically although it wasn’t necessary; Abby’s not stupid. We were far enough back in the side shaft not to be seen unless someone deliberately looked right in. The shadow of a figure fell on the entrance to our shaft and then was gone. I listened as the sound faded in the direction of Medical.

Abby scooted closer to whisper in my ear. Her breath was warm and ticklish.

“Looks like we’re on,” she said.

I turned my head slightly so I could whisper back. “We need to catch them with the medical supplies.”

She nodded and her hair brushed against my face, its long strands catching in my eyelashes. She always smells of herbs, like how I imagine a summer’s day to smell on Earth. I think she infuses Rosemary or something into her hair wash. I crept closer to the junction of the two shafts and knelt, poised with the taser ready. Abby came up behind me, fingers grazing my back as she steadied herself. Adrenaline was making my heart race and it was my turn to try to slow my breathing.

I thought we might be sat there some time but no more than five minutes went past before we heard the thief crawling back along the shaft. As before, when it was Abby, I shouted stop and lit the taser up. I was dazzled again but not before the shape of a large man appeared and burnt itself into my retina. I struck out at the shape but missed and hit the metal floor which sent a buzz of electricity rippling through the aluminum-lined tunnel. Only the rubber soles of my shoes saved me from being electrocuted. I don’t remember a lot about what happened next except the thief also had a taser and struck out at me but he also missed and hit a cable that presumably conducted oxygen or something similar around this part of the Ark because there was a whoosh of air and a huge explosion of hot gas. I was thrown back down the side shaft some distance, landing on my back, which winded me. I don’t think I was knocked out but it took me a few moments to collect myself. Smoke had filled the tunnel making it difficult to breathe and impossible to see. I couldn’t see Abby but then I couldn’t see anything.

“Abby!” I shouted her name a few times but there was no reply. I sat up and knelt forward, started crawling back along the tunnel to the junction, feeling the floor around me as I went. A few yards further along I bumped up against a soft body. I put my hand out in the gloom and felt long hair and warm skin, then something sticky. I peered at my fingers. It looked like blood.

“Abby?”

The figure groaned, and then whispered my name. “Kane?”

“Yes, it’s me. Are you hurt? There’s some blood on your forehead I think.”

The smoke was drifting to the top of the shaft and I could see her better. She was touching her hand to her forehead, feeling the same sticky substance that I had.

“Can you see it? Is it bad?”

I leant over her and peered at the wound, moving matted strands of hair out of the way. There was sharp force trauma in the shape of a laceration but when I probed it carefully with my fingers it didn’t ooze any more. It was already starting to clot.

“You have a cut on your head but it’s not deep and it’s stopped bleeding. Can you sit up?”

She sat up with my help but she was woozy and I held her for a moment, while she recovered. It was strange to have her in my arms again, to feel her weight, her heat. It brought back memories I wished I didn’t have. Of course, that was only the start, although I didn’t know it then.

After a minute she clearly felt better because she tapped my arm to get me to move it from around her. She looked at me then, eyes roaming my face. I doubted she was checking out my good looks so I presumed she was looking for injuries.

“I’m fine,” I said.

“Are you sure?” She touched my cheek with probing fingers and I winced. “This side of your face is red and swollen.”

I touched my cheek, fingers tracing the ghosts of hers. It did feel tender. “I must have fallen against something. It’s fine.”

Abby’s eyes suddenly grew wide, her mouth forming an O.

“What is it? What’s the matter?” I was concerned for a moment that she’d spotted some other terrible wound I wasn’t aware of.

“What about the man? The one in the shaft?”

I had forgotten about him in the confusion. Abby tried to get to her feet but I held her down.

“No. Wait here. I’ll go and look.”

“Kane!”

“Abby. Lie down where the better air is and recover. I’ll let you know if we need you.”

I left before she had a chance to complain further but I half expected her to crawl after me anyway. She never listens to me and pretty much does the opposite of anything I tell her. The smoke made all movement slow. My lungs were burning and my oesophagus seemed to have narrowed to the width of a hair; I could hardly breathe and I felt light-headed with lack of oxygen. When I got to the junction of the two shafts I couldn’t see much but it was obvious something catastrophic had happened. Wires and pipes were hanging down everywhere. I found the man a short way down the shaft buried under rubble. Well, I found parts of him. He was beyond help. I shouted to Abby, although with hardly any breath in me my voice came out strangled and wheezy.

“He’s dead, Abby. Stay where you are, I’m going to look for a way out.”

I picked my way through the debris, crouching to avoid the dangling wires, some of which were sparking and dancing as though they were alive. I won’t detail my entire search here; needless to say, all exits from the shaft were blocked. I was annoyed more than concerned. The explosion would have been heard throughout the station and I thought it was only a matter of a couple of hours until we were rescued. That turned out to be optimistic of me. I crawled back to Abby.

“I’m afraid we’re trapped.” She took the news better than I thought she would, shrugging her shoulders and muttering “Oh, well”. Maybe her head injury was worse than I thought. I sat back against the wall of the side shaft and Abby sat next to me. My radio was lying on the floor nearby and one look at it told me it would be no use. It was smashed, and its insides were hanging out in a way that reminded me of the man I’d just found in the maintenance shaft. I picked it up anyway and pressed the call button. There was nothing.

“We’ll have to wait to be rescued,” I said to Abby.

“I’m sure it won’t be long,” she replied.

We sat in silence for a few minutes. I don’t know what she was thinking about, but I was trying to calculate how long it would take to get a team together and dig through the rubble of the shaft. Abby let out a sigh and I looked at her. She was shaking.

“What’s the matter?”

She shook her head. “Nothing.”

“Something is. You’re shivering. Are you in shock?”

“No, I’m just cold, Marcus.”

It was cold. Normally, the maintenance shaft was hot from all the pipework that crisscrossed the walls and ceiling, but clearly all the services had been knocked out in the explosion. I didn’t have a jacket to give her because I was expecting it to be warm and had left it in my quarters.

“Come here.” I lifted my arm to indicate she should come closer to me, but she didn’t move.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine. Let me put my arms around you, it’s the best way for us both to get warm.”

She looked at me, her eyes narrow and calculating, and then she shuffled closer, her body millimetres from mine, but still maintaining a gap.

“For heaven’s sake, Abby. It’s not as if I haven’t touched you before.”

“That was a long time ago.”

“Yes. It was.”

I put my arm around her and pulled her in giving her no choice about it. She sat stiffly for a moment, and then I felt her body relax, her bones easing, muscles loosening, and she leant in to me. I will admit a temptation to kiss the top of her head overwhelmed me. I don’t know where it came from, a desire to reassure her I suppose. I didn’t do it. Her breathing was steady but punctuated with shivers and I held her tighter, stroking her arm to get some heat into her.

“You smell like death,” she said. She’s not one for niceties is Abby.

“I think I kneeled in something unpleasant when I was looking for that man.”

“It’s okay. I’m used to it.”

Her voice was a low vibration against my chest, soft and sleep-heavy.

“You always smelled nice, when you were young, like spices,” she continued.

“Are you saying I don’t smell nice now, in normal circumstances I mean?”

She laughed. “I’m not saying that. I’m just remembering how you used to smell. This reminds me, I guess, being this close to you.”

Being that close to her was bringing up memories for me as well of the many times she lay in my arms when we were young. She was always so fresh, like soap, and herbs, and so light that sometimes I thought if it wasn’t for the heat of her I wouldn’t know she was there at all. She’s not much heavier now, but she has a gravity to her, a weight of personality that means you cannot fail to notice when she walks in the room. She makes her presence felt, and not just to me.

Of course, I didn’t say any of this to her. “It was my father’s scent.”

“I remember. The first time you wore it you doused yourself in it and we could smell you coming for five minutes before you entered the room.”

“You enjoyed pointing that out to everyone.”

“It couldn’t be ignored!”

“No. Well, you always have enjoyed humiliating me.” She stiffened in my arms at those words.

“I don’t enjoy humiliating you. It’s just. Some of the things you say and do, I can’t let you get away with.”

“Because I don’t behave the way you want me to.”

“You never have.”

I suspected we were talking about something entirely different now, a subject both of us had avoided for over twenty years. Was this really going to be the time she broached it with me? It wasn’t something I wanted to discuss but even I realised we couldn’t go on the way we were for much longer. All the hostility between us is bad for morale on the Council, and doesn’t always lead to clear decision-making. Maybe it was time we had it out.

“You’ve always wanted to control me,” I replied.

“That’s not true! I only ever wanted you to talk to me.”

“You’ve constructed a memory of past events that suits your own sainted image of yourself. It bears no comparison with the reality.”

“What?” The anger and indignation she clearly felt at my remark was evident in the high pitch of her voice. She was shaking again, though not with cold this time. I thought she would pull away from me, but she didn’t. She shook her head against my chest and went quiet, her body trembling as she tried to bring herself under control. I didn’t dare move a muscle, and my arms were aching with the effort of remaining still. At last she spoke, quietly this time, all traces of anger gone.

“You hurt me.”

“I know.”

My response must have surprised her because she pulled away so she could look at me.

“Do you?”

“Yes.”

“You just said I changed the reality of what happened between us to suit my own purposes.”

“Well you have, but that doesn’t mean I don’t recognise the role I played in it.”

She was shaking her head again, the anger giving colour to her pale cheeks.

“The role you played? It was ALL your fault!”

“I don’t see how it was all my fault.”

“You lured me in.”

“I did not lure you in.”

“You did. You made me think I was everything to you, you let me give myself to you body and soul, and then you left me, like I had meant nothing all that time.”

I felt ashamed hearing the truth of it laid out so starkly like that. It was more complicated than it sounds, but Abby had stripped everything down to the bone, and there was no denying it.

“I’m sorry I treated you like that.”

“Why did you do it, Marcus?”

I sighed. Opening up about myself has never been my strong suit. I don’t understand the need people have to constantly expose every thought or feeling they have for the scrutiny of others. Some things should be kept to oneself. I could avoid her question, and nothing would change. Abby would continue to hate me, we would carry on hostilities until we got old and died and were floated into space. I was tired, though. Tired of arguing all the time, tired of, I don’t know, being so completely alone I guess. Not that Abby and I were going to suddenly become best friends. She had Jake, and Clarke, and she didn’t need me at all. Still, it might be interesting to try speaking the truth for once, and I knew what the truth was, always had. I am The Little Prince after all.

“I loved you too much.”

“What does that mean? How can you love someone too much?”

“Because I didn’t know what to do with it. It was overwhelming. I was twenty and I looked at you one day and all I saw was us married with a child and I didn’t know how to be a good husband or a father. I didn’t think I could give you what you deserved. I had ambitions. I wanted a career in the guard. I didn’t want to end up resenting you.”

“Marcus, I never said I wanted to get married and have a child. I wanted to be a doctor more than anything, you know that.”

“Abby, a year later you married Jake and within another year you had Clarke. You always wanted a child.”

“And you didn’t?”

“Not then. Not back then. No.”

“And you still don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“Want a child.”

“Are you offering?”

“Don’t be facetious, Marcus. This is what you always did as soon as things got serious, made a dumb joke, laughed it off.”

“I’m sorry.” And I was. She was right, as she so often is. I did deflect from serious personal conversations by using humour, and now I do it by making myself so unapproachable, no one would dream of having a such a conversation with me. Except Abby. Of course.

“Well?”

“Well what?”

“You’ve never married, Marcus. You don’t have a child, that you know of. There, I got the joke in before you.” She laughed, and I smiled although I didn’t feel like it. “Why not?”

I shook my head. “We go twenty years with barely so much as a how ARE you, Marcus, and then you just rip me open and try to examine my heart and soul.”

“We might never get out of here. Don’t you want to resolve this?”

“We’re not going to die, Abby.”

She gave me a rueful smile. “The oxygen is low, Marcus. I have noticed the signs of hypoxia in myself and you. Your skin is blue-grey and your breathing is fast and shallow. I could feel your heart racing beneath my cheek.”

“That’s the effect you have on me.”

“No it’s not, and you know it.”

She does have that effect on me, more than I’d like to admit, but she was right. I had noticed the symptoms myself. We were losing breathable air at an alarming rate.

“It’s not that complicated. I’m not married because I never met anyone I wanted to spend that much time with.”

“What about Cece?”

I shrugged. “Cece is. Well it’s just recreation, for both of us. I think.”

“You haven’t changed. You could ask her, find out what she wants.”

“I don’t want to, Abby, that’s the truth. I’m sorry. You want me to be happy like you are so that you can feel less guilty about what happened too.”

Her eyes opened wide at that. “What do you mean? Why would I feel guilty? I didn’t do anything wrong.”

“You started dating Jake three months after we broke up and before I knew it you were married. I thought, after a break away from each other, maybe we would get a new perspective on our relationship, start again, but you moved on.”

Her cheeks were flaming red now. “You are unbelievable! You never said a word to me about any of this, never even told me why you left. It was just I can’t do this anymore, Abby. I was devastated.”

“For three months.”

“I needed someone, something. But anyway, that has nothing to do with you. You lost the right to comment on my life the minute you left.”

“I should have spoken to you, told you the truth. I’m sorry.”

“Yes, you should, and we could have been honest about our thoughts about the future. Who knows what life we could have been having now if you’d done that.”

That remark cut me to the bone. She didn’t mean it to, I’m sure about that. What would a life with Abby have entailed? Would we have had a child of our own eventually, younger than Clarke is, with dark hair and deep brown eyes? Or would we have still argued and butted heads, and made each other thoroughly miserable? It’s impossible to know, but her words made me feel the loss of it, of what might have been. It was painful.

“I guess we’ll never know.”

“I guess not.”

She looked down at the floor, and I stared off into the gloom. There was nothing else either of us had the desire to say, and so we stayed silent.

After a few minutes she curled up on the floor next to me. “I’m going to sleep.”

“I don’t think you should. The oxygen.”

“It’s going to run out anyway. What difference does it make if I’m awake?”

“Don’t say that, Abby. I’m sorry for what I did.”

“I know you are.” She paused for a moment, and then “I loved you.”

“I loved you too.”

“You should have told me.”

“I know.”

She drifted off and so did I because the next thing I remember was rough hands shaking me and a gruff male voice calling my name. Our rescuers had arrived, and although we were weak from hypoxia we were otherwise none the worse for wear. A little wiser, perhaps, and sadder. The weight of her words about the future has been laying heavy on me. I had to write this all down, to try and relieve some of the heft of it, before it crushes me. She smiled at me and wished me a good night when we were both discharged from Medical. I don’t know how this night will change our daily interactions if at all. Time will tell, I suppose.

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The First Time | Kabby | The 100 from Isolation Shepherd on Vimeo.

The first time ever I lay with you...

Song by Roberta Flack Program: Vegas Pro 14