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SINS AND THEIR SINNERS
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im in the hospital w/ mono rn LMFAO
USUALLY LYRA IS a pretty big fan of ignoring her problems until they go away. Which is pretty obvious, given everything that she's done over the past three months.
Sadly, she doesn't think that it is going to be an option this time.
Mainly because she's bound and gagged in the airlock. Not only that, but so are all of her friends. Octavia is right beside her, writhing like mad as she tries to pull against her restraints, but it's useless. Lyra's fettered in a way that she cannot twist her head back to look at the rest of them, but it's pretty easy to imagine matching looks of terror on all of their faces. And she can still hear Raven whimpering; the mechanic hasn't stopped crying since Emerson killed Sinclair.
Yeah, this problem is pretty hard to ignore.
Suddenly, Emerson's walkie crackles.
"Emerson." Clarke's familiar, cool-under-pressure voice cuts through the static easily. "I know you're listening. We need to talk."
Lyra feels dizzy with relief. That's right ━━ Clarke and Bellamy haven't been captured. They're OK.
"I don't need to do anything," responds Emerson coarsely. "You should've killed me when you had the chance."
Lyra doesn't know what he's referring to ━━ the day they irradiated the mountain, maybe ━━ but Clarke seems to. She responds in a voice like steel. "And now you're here to kill me, is that it?"
"Something like that," he sneers.
"Then let my friends go," Clarke says brazenly. "Do that and you can have me."
"You're brave, Clarke. I'll give you that. They're lucky to have a friend like you," drawls Emerson, though he hardly looks surprised. Lyra is half-sure he'd expected Clarke to pull something like this. "Come to the airlock. No weapons. Right now."
Certain that Clarke has a better plan then just getting herself killed, Lyra feels her fear start to ebb.
Lithe footsteps thud against the dull alloyed corridors. Moving herself in a way that the rope rubs her skin raw until it burns, Lyra manages to twist painfully to see Clarke approaching. She's still in her Wanheda garb, the leathery trench coat grazing the floor as she moves slowly but surely towards the airlock. The various metal harnesses and sheathes along her person glitter deftly as she holds her hands up in the air in surrender. There is no sign of Bellamy.
"I held out my part of the deal." Clarke's gaze is dead set on Emerson; she doesn't even look at the rest of them. "Your turn. Let my friends go."
"Tell Bellamy to show himself first."
"I don't know what you're — "
Before Clarke can even finish the sentence, Emerson nails Lyra in the abdomen. Startled, she shrieks in pain as her legs start to buckle under her weight. She doesn't get the chance to drop. Emerson balls her ponytail into a fist, hauling her back against his abdomen before pressing a knife against her throat. The steel is cold and as it presses down, beads of blood begin to dribble against the flinty blade. Her eyes roll shut as she starts to whimper loudly.
"No!"
Bellamy bursts into view, eyes wild and frantic, firearm poised and ready. But he can't get a clear shot, not with Emerson using Lyra's body as a shield.
Lyra's insides curdle, her breaths hoarse with fright as Emerson eases the knife only slightly. It still hovers only a few centimetres above her very vulnerable throat. But she doesn't care about that. All she can think of is how Bellamy revealed himself and how she probably fucked up whatever plan he and Clarke had thought of.
"OK, now," begins Emerson crudely. There's a sick triumph in his voice. "Take out the clip and throw it down the hall. Put the gun on the ground and get inside."
Lyra wishes she could yell for Bellamy and Clarke to run, or even shake her head frantically. But she's too afraid to even breathe; one small movement and the knife will slit her throat. Besides, she cannot even see either of them. Emerson's thrust her head back in a way that all she can see is the callous metal ceiling.
"Please, you wanted me." Clarke sounds dangerously close to desperation. "I'll get inside once you let them go."
A sickening epiphany strikes Lyra. This must have been where Abby floated Clarke's father on the Ark. Another beat and she realises something else. . . this is the same airlock where she, Lyra Jupiter, had been sentenced to death for.
"I was talking to Bellamy."
And all thoughts of how cruel this is leave Lyra's thoughts as Emerson begins to cut into her skin again. Lyra bares her teeth and tries to hide back her cries, but she's never been quite good at hiding her pain. Hot tears burn her irises as she whimpers again, much louder than she would have liked to. Her pain only seems to enthral Emerson and there is a bloodcurdling glee in his eyes.
"OK!" Bellamy shouts. He sounds distraught. "Just stop!"
Clarke says something to him, but Lyra can't quite make it out. Emerson tightens his grasp around Lyra's throat, as if her blood isn't enough to satisfy him anymore. Instead he starts to choke her and Lyra gurgles wildly, unable to taste anything but copper blood.
"Enough!" Bellamy yells. "I did it — I put the gun down!"
No, Lyra thinks, dizzy with dread. She can hear Bellamy walking closer. No. . .
"Those are yours," Emerson growls.
He throws Lyra's head forwards and she just barely manages to keep herself from smacking into the wall. Without thought, she immediately looks over where Bellamy is, right beside her. He is restraining himself besides her. Catching her gaze, he glances over and gives her a reassuring nod, though what could possibly be reassuring right now, Lyra has no idea.
Meanwhile, Emerson pulls out a gun.
"Get on your knees, Clarke."
Still in the corridor, face white as bone, Clarke sinks to her knees. Her hands are still up in surrender.
"Put your hands behind your head."
Without much choice, Clarke obeys.
Emerson strides out of the airlock. Joining Clarke in the corridor, he seals the airlock shut. The thick glass slides closed with a hiss, and Lyra cannot help the sickening feeling that somehow, he must have just sealed their fates.
Clarke starts to say something, but her voice is muffled. It doesn't quite matter what she's saying anyways because the next moment, Emerson's dragged her forward and smashed her head into the glass. He throws an arm around her neck and her face flushes red from exertion as he makes her stare at them. His gun is still at her head.
Then the airlock flushes blood red.
"Airlock 5," a male robotic voice, slick as a bullet, announces. "Oxygen venting."
Emerson has shut off the oxygen.
And, with a horrifying jolt, Lyra realises what happens next. She is going to suffocate to death in the same airlock she had been sentenced to death in two years ago.
This is how she is going to die. Not among the stars like she was originally fated to. Not trapped beneath the earth in Mount Weather where she'd committed so many atrocities, not in those damned Reaper Tunnels with Wells, not even a proper warriors death at the hands of the bloodthirsty Grounders. Here. In this airlock. As a pawn in one survivors twisted game of revenge.
This is how she's going to die. The same way she always was, but this time, she's on the ground.
It's a cruel irony. A sickening twist of fate.
And not even just her. Her friends, most of whom were slated for the same death, save for Raven. Raven whose just watched the last of her family die.
And Bellamy.
Bellamy. . .
He wasn't supposed to die like this.
Instinctively, she looks at Bellamy. They are going to die. They are going to die and she wants him to be the last thing she sees.
The air is thinning faster and faster. One thousand words raze Lyra's throat and yet she can say nothing at all as Bellamy meets her gaze with something like wretched despair. As if he's accepted their fate and cannot bear to look away from her.
Her chest constricts tighter and tighter as if a python has cooled around her lungs. There are so many things she wants to say and yet she cannot give life to any of them, not when she's dying. Black spots blur the edges of her vision and, for the first time, Bellamy's face begins to blur.
Tears well in her eyes. She just wants to look at him one last time.
One last time.
She hopes he knows that she is so glad she got to hold him. Even if it feels like a lifetime ago. There is nothing she regrets more then leaving him and she wants him to know that. If the eyes are truly the windows to the soul, she hopes he can tell. She could fall for him one thousand lifetimes and she would never regret it. Lyra would spend every lifetime giving Bellamy her heart, even if all he was going to do was break it.
Until the very end, she thinks, wishing she could touch him for the last time. Until the very end. . .
Numbness oozes through her limbs. It feels as if a blizzard is unfolding within her, the bitter cold seeping through her veins, clogging every last pore in her body. She is warped with frost. Stars unravel all around her and for a moment, she is almost convinced that somehow she is back on the Ark, that everything has been a dream she's concocted within solitary. As if none of it had ever been real at all. . .
"Lyra — Lyra!"
. . . Monty?
Lyra's entire body heaves. She hadn't realised it, but at some point, her eyelids had rolled shut as she began to drift away. Only now. . . it's all over.
For a moment, she thinks she's already dead.
Then she feels Clarke scrabbling to undo her cuffs. The gag in her mouth is soaked with blood, sweat, tears, and desperation as someone wrenches it from her. Across the chamber, Harper's palms are pressed to her temple as her eyes roll unseeingly. Feeling is coming back to all of them, slowly but surely. Jasper is watching Monty with an unreadable expression. Bryan is racing to undo Nate's cuffs. Clarke goes to help Octavia, but Octavia's managed to free herself, and she crouches to help the crippled mechanic. Raven looks wretched with misery. And then, as Lyra glances haphazardly into the corridor, she sees Emerson.
Blood drenches his face to the point where it's beyond recognition. His body is contorted to the point where several bones must be broken.
Clarke had put the flame in him.
͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙ ✩ *̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙ ✩ *̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙
THE RELIEF DOES not last, though it never does.
Being alive again means dealing with everything that has happened. All the pain, all the suffering. Darkness rolls all around them as the world is plunged into night. Slivers of moonlight create paths of dull white as Lyra slips past the Arkadia gates and hurries along the beaten dirt path. Octavia is somewhere ahead, helping Monty pack up cases of firearms while Jasper watches. Clarke is the only other one out there with them, observing Octavia with some semblance of. . . understanding.
Lyra wonders if she is thinking of Finn ━━ had Clarke really loved him as much as Octavia loves Lincoln? Or is she thinking of someone else?
An impromptu silhouette appears by the gates as someone strides out from Arkadia. Bellamy. There is a cloth-shrouded lump in his arms and it takes Lyra a moment to realise who it is: Lincoln.
A hollow silence engulfs them as Bellamy gently sets Lincoln's body at Octavia's feet. Lyra is rooted to the earth, to afraid to even move.
Octavia falls at his side. Her hands are trembling violently as she peels back the shroud to see his face.
It is still stained with blood.
Tears begin to roll down Octavia's cheeks and she doesn't seem to care. She takes short, wheezing gasps. Ugly, feral noises burst from her lips as her shuddering hands graze Lincoln's face. She shakes as if having a seizure; her breathing so shallow and so scarce that Lyra is actually frightened for her. She hiccups, then wails. Brutally. Wildly.
Lyra can feel herself crumbling. She has never heard someone sound so broken.
Octavia shudders. Brushes her hands across Lincoln's deadened features. Presses a chaste kiss to his forehead one last time.
They build a pyre for Lincoln and Sinclair.
One good thing about Alie is that she hadn't bothered taking any of their supplies. Lyra isn't quite sure what that says about the City of Light — either it's sustainable or, even worse, they don't care enough about their own well-being. But either way, there was enough firewood stockpiled to build a slab large enough to fit both men. They all gather there in the dirt. Lincoln's body is still shrouded. Sinclair's eyes have been shut and he stares unseeingly up at the stars.
Lyra presses her hand to her mouth, fighting back tears. Sinclair had never been the most important person in her life, but he'd always been there. And now. . .
Limping towards him, Raven places a hand in his shoulder. "May we meet again."
Lyra swallows thickly. "Mebi oso na hit choda op nodotaim."
May we meet again.
"Yu gonplei ste odon," Octavia says. Her voice does not shake. Her face is stiff.
Your fight is over.
She lights the pyre.
Yu gonplei ste odon's echo around the fire as they watch the flames consume the dead. Lyra's heart feels heavy. Thick plumes of smoke shoot up into the night sky as she fights the instinctive urge to glance over at Bellamy, who is just beside her.
He is the last one to speak. His shoulders are slumped as he watches Lincoln. "Yu gonplei ste odon."
"It's time to go!" Octavia shouts coarsely. "I'll get the map!"
Lyra catches Octavia's gaze for a heartbeat. The younger Blake's eyes are gleaming. Awash with firelight, she almost seems to glow red.
Octavia strides into Arkadia without looking back.
Bellamy watches her go. He seems to understand that it is not his place to speak, that it would be better if he left his little sister alone. And his hurricane-brown eyes at last turn upon Lyra with a ghost of sadness.
"We need to talk," he says lowly.
"Yeah," she agrees grimly. "We do."
͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙ ✩ *̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙ ✩ *̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙
EVEN THOUGH THEY'D agreed to talk, the pair sit in deafening silence. Much to Clarke's displeasure, Bellamy had insisted on him and Lyra taking out the rover, not the least bit afraid of every security issue Clarke pointed out in that plan. He'd insisted that he could protect him and Lyra both. Which is why now Lyra is curled up in the passengers seat while Bellamy is at the wheel. The rover is in park just off the dirt brown trail leading back to the gates. Arkadia is within sight, though several hundred feet away. The stars twinkle eerily in the night sky and Lyra finds herself overly fascinated with them.
After several excruciating beats, it's Bellamy who at last breaks the silence.
"You know how when I was a kid, my mom would read me Greek mythology every night? And how I started doing the same for O?"
Not sure where this is going, she tentatively nods.
"In those stories, everything was black and white," he says. He hasn't looked over at her yet. Instead he stares out the windshield and deep into the dark forests. "You were either good or bad. You were either the monster or the hero."
Lyra doesn't dare move. Slowly, she glances over at him. His mouth is pressed tight and his expression is pained.
"I wanted to believe that," Bellamy admits. He exhales shakily. "I wanted to believe that so badly. I needed to believe that the Grounders were bad and we were good. But now. . . now I don't know what to believe."
He shakes his head frustratedly, hands coiling in his curls. Lyra has never seen anyone look so disgusted with themselves.
"I killed Lincoln."
Her refutation is immediate. "You didn't kill him, Bellamy. That was Pike." He opens his mouth to argue, but she doesn't give him the chance. "That wasn't you, Bellamy. And that wasn't you that massacred the army, either. That was Pike. He got into your head."
"I let him," he whispers.
"No, you didn't," she insists. Without thought, she takes his hand in her own, threading his trembling digits in her steady ones. "Pike knew how to manipulate you. He knows how good you are, how all you want to do is protect everyone. He hit you when you were at your weakest, after Mount Weather."
"Not just Mount Weather," Bellamy admits so quietly that she almost doesn't hear him. He still doesn't look at her, but he doesn't let go of her hand, either. "When you were missing, too."
She flinches. "I'm — "
He seems to guess what she's going to say immediately and says, sternly, "Don't do that. Don't apologise. I've already forgiven you."
"Have you forgiven yourself?" She asks lowly.
Bellamy looks away again. "I — "
"You deserve forgiveness," Lyra says. Bellamy closes his eyes, perhaps weighed down by guilt, and she turns in the seat so that she is facing him head on. "You do, Bellamy. I forgive you."
"You shouldn't." He seems as if he wants to pull back from her touch but does not quite have the ability to. "I hurt you, Lyra."
And though he does not mention it, Lyra knows that he is speaking of everyone else he's hurt, too.
He doesn't need to say it out loud. He feels as if he is beyond help, alone and hopeless with nothing to his name but a list of all the lives he has taken. That the blood he has taken has stained his hands in a way that they will never be clean again. Bellamy cannot connect with anything or anyone because he doesn't even seem able to connect with himself. After everything he's done, he doesn't seem to find himself worthy of feeling anything other than a bitter hollowness. As if he deserves for everything to feel like nothing.
But he doesn't. Even if he doesn't see that, he doesn't deserve it.
"Not on purpose," Lyra says.
"Not on purpose," he agrees, though this doesn't seem any comfort to him. "I didn't want to hurt you. And I never will again. I'm sorry, Lyra."
Her thumb strokes his knuckles gently. His bronze hands are littered with small scars, some old arms faded, others raw and pink and puckered angrily. At last he seems brave enough to look her in the eyes and his mouth lilts upwards into the beginnings of a hesitant, crooked little grin.
Slowly, as if afraid he might hurt her now, Bellamy touches his fingers to her chin. Being this close to Bellamy isn't foreign territory and yet Lyra cannot help the way her breath snags in her throat. She is enamoured with the way his fingers move, with the way the light plays on his bronze skin, with his freckles. All her thoughts slide away as he draws closer and closer towards her.
All she really knows is this: That he has seventeen freckles smattered across his bronze cheeks. That there is a faint scar above his left eyebrow from that time he fought Dax. She knows that he hates math because he doesn't really think there is a concrete solution to every problem. She knows that he likes staying up late and reading books. She knows that whenever he smiles, he ducks his head downwards.
Their lips are so close they just nearly graze. This is different from any other kiss they've ever shared; this is slow, intentional, intimate. Her chest swirls like a cloudburst and then ━━
A low thud shakes the roof of the car. Not even a heartbeat later, something slams against the window of the passengers seat. In shock, Lyra manages to realise that it is a gloved hand trying to punch straight through the glass.
Her heart jumps erratically in her chest as it beats against the glass again and again. The rover roars to life as Bellamy starts the car once more. Alarmed, Lyra tries to listen to what's above them, trying to deduce what the hell it is. A heartbeat later and she hears the cocking of a firearm.
Terrified, she deduces that the assailant's first move is going to be to shoot at her through the window. Stupid with fear, throwing all dignity out the window, she scrambles sideways and onto Bellamy's lap as he urges the rover forward, searching madly for his rifle.
She doesn't get the chance to fire it. Bellamy reaches down and punches the emergency brake forwards. The rover skids to a choppy halt against the uneven terrain and their assailant is hurled from the roof, flipping ungracefully over the hood, and thrown onto the ground. They roll over their shoulder and lands crouched on their feet with almost inhuman agility, and yet momentum does not allow for them to stop. They keep rolling backwards. In a swift attempt to come to a halt, the dark figure throws an arm forwards into the dirt. Gloved fingers rake through the earth, tear through brambles and foliage, trailing destruction in their wake. Seeming to possess all the time in the world, the shadow rises steadily to his feet, dark tresses of hair framing his locked jaw wildly.
Lyra is flooded with horror. "Dad?"
Without thought, she starts to peel herself from the seat. But before she can get anywhere, Bellamy jerks an arm out to stop her.
"That is not your dad," he informs her in a low, rumbling whisper. "You get out of the rover and you're doing exactly what Alie wants. It's a trap."
"You don't think I know that?" Lyra demands shrilly. Her voice climbs several octaves in her panic. "If I don't do this, who knows what she'll do to him! I have to — I have to get outside and restrain him somehow, we can give him an EMP like we did for Raven — "
Noah Jupiter stands there in the dark, waiting, calculating. Terrified, Lyra wonders what kind of instructions Alie could be giving him now.
"Get the others and tell them we need backup," Lyra says lowly. "I'll distract him."
"No." Bellamy's denial is so immediate that it almost seems instinctive. "You're out of your mind if you think I'm letting you go out there alone."
"Fine," says Lyra furiously. "Then come with me, I don't care. But I'm going."
This time, she does not even give Bellamy the chance to stop her. Forgetting the rifle she'd taken from him, she fumbled with the handle of the door, her fingers at last curling around it. She practically throws the door open and jumps onto the earth. Slowly, hesitantly, she takes one small step towards her dad. He observes her silently. Emboldened, she takes another small step, and then another. Still, he does not move.
She is barely half a dozen feet away from him now.
"Dad?" She asks again, voice quivering, half-terrified that somehow he's forgotten her.
He suddenly eases, all the tension in his shoulders disappearing. When he speaks, it's almost as if nothing's changed at all. "Hey, sweetheart."
In the shadows, Lyra can see Bellamy edging around them, giving Noah a wide berth. She knows that he means to sneak up on Noah, and briefly she realizes that it's actually a good plan. She probably should have listened more when she was in the rover. But it's too late for that now.
Still. She needs to keep her dad distracted.
She swallows uneasily. "So, uh, you're not going to hurt me?"
"Hurt you?" Noah echoes. He seems both baffled and amused by the question. "Why would I want to hurt you, Lyra? You're my little star-girl — I love you."
"Yeah," she says shakily. "Like you love mom, right?"
Despite the lack of recognition on his face, he manages a chuckle.
"Oh, you're good, aren't you? You know that I wouldn't remember her. I'm chipped, remember? There's no pain in the City of Light and I hate to break it to you, kiddo, but there's a lot of pain in that question. It's like a loaded gun. Man, my metaphors just keep getting better and better, don't they?"
In her peripheral, she can see Bellamy starting to creep closer and closer. Noah starts to follow her gaze. Alarmed, she takes another step closer to her dad.
"C'mon, we both know you want to take the chip," continues Noah placatingly. "You want to be happy, don't you? Well, you could be. And we would be together. A family — just like you've always wanted. Our happily-ever-after."
"Tempting," Lyra says. "But I don't need some crazy lady stealing my memories. I'll never take the chip."
Noah's smirk is almost frightening. "Never say never, kid. Oh, and by the way, Bellamy, son — stop acting like I can't hear you stomping around back there. Jesus, kid, you're loud as an elephant. Stick to being a guard, you're not a damn ninja."
About a dozen feet behind Noah, Bellamy freezes. Though his shoulders stiffen, he doesn't seem quite afraid, not yet.
"Rot in hell, Alie," he snaps. "We aren't taking the fucking chip."
Noah arches a brow. "No?"
"No," answers Bellamy fiercely. "And you're not hurting Lyra, either."
"I can see why you're not the brains of the operation, son," says Noah dryly. "I already said I wouldn't hurt her. What are you, deaf?"
Bellamy's jaw clenches.
"Whatever," says Noah carelessly. He lifts his shoulders into a hapless shrug as if to say, Kids these days! Then he turns his attention back to Lyra, who shrinks under his gaze. "I really do mean it. I'm not going to hurt you. . . I'm going to hurt myself."
She gapes at him. "What?"
And before she can say anything else, before Bellamy can stop him, Noah's swiftly drawn a handgun from its holster. He presses the barrel of it against his neck. His fingers curl over the trigger and then there is the malevolent echo of the safety being turned off and a bullet sliding into the chamber.
A shockwave engulfs Lyra.
A throat-tearing scream rises up within Lyra and it takes every ounce of self-control not to cry out. It feels as if her heart is disintegrating in her chest. She can only stare in mute horror as her dad holds a gun to his head. He is even whistling jauntily as if not quite able to grasp the gravity of the situation ━━ though maybe he can't. Lyra has no idea what Alie is doing to him.
"Alie, don't do this," she rushes out amidst a jumble of nonsensical noises. Shock has taken hold of her. "Please, Alie, don't kill him. Please."
"Alie's not killing me," says Noah cheerfully. He fixes her with an intense gaze, smiling insanely. "You are."
"No." Lyra's voice shivers violently. Her fists clench and unclench restlessly. "No, I'm not. This is Alie. I'm not — "
"You're not," agrees Noah. "But you could save me."
All too late, Bellamy seems to realize what's going on. He lurches forwards only for Noah to raise the gun higher to his own head; looking distraught, Bellamy's eyes flicker wildly to Lyra's own tearful ones. "Lyra, no, you can't do this — "
"It's OK," Lyra chokes out. "I didn't hear the passphrase to the flame. I didn't see the map. I'm not a liability."
"What — a liability?" Bellamy stares at her before his eyes narrow fiercely. "You think I care about all that? I don't! I care about you!"
"I'll be fine," she says quietly. "There is no pain in the City of Light."
Helpless, without any other choice, she does the one thing she'd promised herself she'd never do. Lyra accepts the chip Noah offers her in his outstretched palm, her hands shivering violently.
And she takes the chip.
For a moment, it feels as if nothing's happened. Bizarrely, the silicone seems to somehow have melted in her mouth. She tries to move, but then finds it very hard to do so. It's almost as if someone had simply taken away her control over her body.
And when she opens her eyes, she knows something is very, very wrong.
She glances up, and then almost feels like vomiting. She can do nothing but gape for an arduous heartbeat, lips almost quivering with shock as she stares at the woman in the red dress.
"Mom?"
*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙ ✩ *̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙ .·͙*̩̩͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩̥͙ ✩ *̩̩̥͙˚̩̥̩̥*̩̩͙‧͙
ALRIGHT BITCHES, HOLD ON TO UR TAMPONS, IT'S GETTING REAL
Also,,, Alie making Noah almost shoot himself so she can get Lyra
Lyra taking the chip:
4.8k words