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.*･｡. HOOD! .*･｡.
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026.
TWO TARGET TANGO.
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When was the last time Robin had been on bed rest?

   She wasn't sure — probably when she was ten, stuck in her bed with strep throat, or something — but she didn't think it was quite as boring as the last three days had been.

    "C'mon, blondie!"

   Clarke rolled her eyes and she adjusted the wrap around Robin's thigh. She'd replaced it with a newer, cleaner strip of material on the cauterised wound at least once a day. The antidote had worked on both Robin and Finn, and the poison was out of their system in merely a couple of hours. Robin had been achey after the seizures, and her leg was deemed unfit to be moving around on, so the king and the princess had put her on strict bed rest — spacewalker was, too. Their leaders had said Robin was fragile, and needed rest and time to recover. It had angered Robin. So much, that she had been scarily close to hanging them up for grounder food. She didn't, of course, but she had debated it. Robin wasn't fragile. She had rested plenty, more than any other human required, and she was bored. Plus, Finn was the one who needed bed rest. Robin's leg was fine.

Finn was the one stabbed in the chest, after all. It had been three days and Finn could hardly walk, still. Or, at least, so she had heard.

Robin was avoiding him.

Because, well— because seeing him reminded her that he nearly died, and that reminded her that she nearly died, and Robin's aims were to ignore that train of thought altogether. She had avoided as much of the dropship as she could.

The grounder was still in there, and she didn't want to think the worst of what could happen. Robin had been informed on how the man had been treated, and why, and Robin had heard some pretty gruesome stories from Octavia. She didn't remember much of it, it was all much of a haze, but she wasn't up to debating it. What had happened had happened, now. It was in the past. They might learn to regret it later, but it was no longer fixable.

Robin wasn't one for dictating the morality of others. Everyone had reasons for doing things. If Bellamy and Clarke had thought it was the only way to save her and Finn, then Robin could only let it be that way. They did what they thought they had to do. It was the consequences that Robin cared about — they were red hot targets.

But, so far, three days had presented no attacks.

It was going surprisingly well, despite the chaos of that night. No new attacks, no deaths, Finn and Robin survived, and the prisoner — grounder — had yet to escape.

It was good.

It felt good, too.

"Robin—"

That felt significantly less good.

"Did you forget your not in charge of me, princess?" Robin sent her a nasty look, crossing her arms childishly.

"Did you forget I saved your life?" Clarke shot back. She loved to use that one, now. Partially because it annoyed Robin so much it looked like she would explode, and partially because it was true. "I didn't save you, to let you die."

"I won't die walking around camp," she said. Robin resisted the urge to tell her that Octavia had been the one to save her life, or so she had heard.

    "I know," shrugging, Clarke stood and folded her arms. When it got her stared down with narrowed eyes, she rolled her own. "You never let me finish." She explained, "I was saying you were good to go," Robin had shot up before the girl could even finish. It was her worst nightmare, to deal with a smug looking Clarke Griffin, but it didn't seem the matter. If she could get up and out of her tent, she wouldn't have to look at smug Clarke for much longer. "Your leg is healing well, and you haven't shown symptoms of seizures in a few days..." she checked Robin's eyes, just to be sure there was no need to reevaluate her condition, and could feel Robin hanging onto her words. "Don't see why not."

Robin grinned, "Good. Let's go—"

"On one condition."

"You're askin' for a punch, blondie." She glared.

"I need you to check on Finn," Clarke ignored her. She watched Robin's face drop and she quickly sat back down. Clarke sighed, "I have to talk to chancellor, so I need somebody to check on him."

"Bull," she narrowed her eyes at the blonde. It was obviously the only lie Clarke could think of. Sure, she had to talk to Jaha, but she knew that if someone needed to check on Finn then she would just have to look at Raven and the mechanic would make a dash for his tent — she hardly left her boyfriend's side, anyway. It wasn't like the boy had almost died, or anything. "Get Raven to do it." The words made Clarke's face fall. Robin rose her eyebrows, "Looks like I just solved your problems, Griffin. Free of charge."

"You haven't seem him since—"

"—since we nearly died? Yeah, I remember."

It was a lie. Technically, Robin didn't remember. She didn't recall much about what happened that night, not after Clarke pulled the knife from Finn's side and Robin was left in the hands of Miller to keep her alive. Everything else was a blur. There was small patches of memory, little snippets, but the main thing she remembered she remembered was waking up to see Bellamy Blake's face.

Apart from the pain. The pain was unforgettable, and she wasn't sure she would ever be able to forget that.

Clarke sighed.

"I just think, if you saw each other, it could be healing—"

"Healing?"

"You haven't been the same—"

"I don't need to be healed, Clarke!" Robin raised her tone. It was a threat; a dare for the girl to battle her; alongside her real name. It took Clarke off guard.

Robin had only called her Clarke when she was dying — when it was likely she wouldn't make it much longer without seizing, when they were scared Robin and Finn would pass by morning. She was always called princess or blondie. Robin never used her name. Clarke found it chilling to be called Clarke by Robin Loxely.

"You can get out, now." Robin glared.

"Fine." Lips pulled between her teeth, Clarke nodded. "Fine. If you don't wanna see him, that's fine." She turned to leave but then stopped at the tarp. "You may not be worried about him, Robin, but did you ever stop and think maybe Finn's been worried about you?"

    "I didn't ask him to do that," Robin argued.

    "Yeah?" She scoffed, "Well, good people don't need to be asked."

   Silence.

"You're a bitch, Clarke."

"Speak for yourself, Robin."

Then, Clarke left. Robin remained glowering at the tarp she had passed through in a sharp silence.

She looked down at her thigh, seeing the crisscrossing of stitches. Octavia had patched up her pants from where they had been split; she couldn't walk around with a knife-slash, forever.

It was also apparently the least she could do since Robin mainly got stabbed because she had gone to find Octavia. They wouldn't have been in that cave, otherwise. Robin honestly agreed with her. They wouldn't have been there, but it wasn't Octavia who stabbed Robin, nor Finn, so she had opted to just let the girl fix her ripped pants in silence. She seemed to feel better for it. Apparently sewing was the way she wasted time when she wasn't under the floors; their mom was a seamstress, Octavia had said, before going to find spare wire.

Robin sighed through her nostrils and gave the stitching a nasty look, as if it had said something she didn't want to hear. Grabbing her jacket, she shoved her arms through the sleeves and stood. She stumbled, but stayed upright.

When she was steady, Robin strode forwards and pulled the tarp, ducking through the entrance to her tent.

It was busy.

Kids were working on rebuilding fallen parts of the wall, and all that had been battered, by the storm. Others were sorting through the nuts and berries for winter, some making new weapons for any chance of a grounder attack. Robin adjusted her jacket and mused through the crowd, a slight limp in her step, and headed towards a tent not too far away.

"Loxely!"

"Jace," Robin turned.

A strangled sound came from the back of her throat, as she was tugged into a pair of arms. Robin stiffened in his embrace — hugs were not her thing.

"You're alive!"

"You knew I was alive, Jace." She rolled her eyes.

"I know, but let's pretend so we can have a moment." Jace gave a shrug of his shoulders, eyes shut as he patted her head. When he was pushed away, he jutted his bottom lip and pouted at her. "You could at least try to be nicer to me."

"I'll pass," Robin squinted. "Why are you smiling, like that?"

"Like, what?"

"Like that," she frowned at the overbearing grin on his face. His eyes were bright, and his left dimple was showing. "Like you found a way to eat the sun and now it's burning you inside." Robin threw him a strange look when his eyebrows raised to his forehead. Head tilted, she gave the kid a funny look. "What?"

"That was real poetic," he shrugged.

"Shut up," she said.

"Yeah— yeah." Jace gave her a light shove, grimacing in guilt when she stumbled but brushed it off. He mocked, "Shut up, Jace."

Robin scoffed, but let him swing an arm around her and guide her away from the tent. Her eyes lingered on it, although it faded between the groups of teenage delinquents with every step away.

They ended up near the fire pit, where kids were packing rations and stacking them up. Two of those kids were Monty and Jasper, a pair that grinned when they saw her and said you're alive! much like Jace had done. Robin simply rolled her eyes and gave them a stare, one that made them snicker like children and continue to throw an array of nuts into each others mouths, finding fun in the game the pair had created. Jace took him arm off her shoulder — because it was pushed off by Robin — and took a seat on the log by the boys from farm station. It occurred to her then that Jace had known the other two, before the skybox. She wondered if that was how they'd all known Murphy, too. But the thought of Murphy made her sour and she shook it off.

"I heard he told Digg's parents what happened," Monty said as Miller walked past, headed to the dropship. "Probably just spoken to Roma's mom. Apparently Bellamy hasn't spoken to the ark once, since we got the radio working."

"Why'd ya think he jacked it?" Jasper snorted.

"My parents thought they'd seen a ghost," snickered Jace, as he reflected on chatting to his parents that morning. He sent Robin a wink that thanked her for keeping her promise; she had been help to Raven and Monty, who took as much as they could to her tent so she could work on it, and thus fulfilled her promise that his family would know he was alive. But, her stare kept going back to the line of delinquents waiting for their turn. "You spoken to your dad?"

"Hm—?" Robin blinked.

"Your dad?"

"Oh, uh— not yet." That was another thing Robin was avoiding, alongside Finn Collins.

As relieved as she had felt when Sinclair had confirmed her dad was alive, Robin still didn't want to speak to him. Call her stubborn, but Robin was mad at him for not visiting.

The skybox was lonely, and her father hadn't visited once. They were in a state of their relationship that was unspoken for. Robin, as upset as she was, didn't blame him for not visiting her. Robin let him down, she knew she had; no one wanted a child as a criminal, including Daniel Loxely. He didn't want his daughter.

So, why should she want him?

Jace frowned, eyes flickering to Monty and Jasper as they packed rations, and back to Robin. She had been worried that Bellamy's stunt had killed him. He shrugged, "Woulda thought you'd wanna see him," he figured.

"I do..." did she?

"What's the problem, then?"

"I just... I don't think he'd wanna see me," she forced a smile.

It was true what their world said: the truth hurts. Robin really understood that phrase, now. She watched his face soften and her shoulder's stiffened, becoming standoffish by instinct. She liked Jace, but that didn't mean she wanted to talk to him about her lost relationship with her father. Robin had no intention of talking that through with anyone, not even the man himself.

"C'mon, Robin." Jace rolled his eyes, "He's gotta wanna know if you're alive! You nearly died!"

"Thanks for reminding me," Robin gave him a tight smile, and snatched a nut from the bucket. She threw it in his direction when he mirrored her expression, but Jace swiftly caught it in his mouth.

"Aye!"

"Yeah, man!"

He, Jasper and Monty exchanged a series of high fives. With an agonised eye roll, once again, Robin fought a smile. Bunch of losers.

They worked on packaging rations for a while longer. Robin was quiet, occasionally peaking over her shoulder and at the tent Jace'd unintentionally pulled her away from. There was brief chat, Jasper voicing his concerns for grounder attacks and Monty telling him it would be more likely they'd die of hyperthermia (helpful), and that Jace was almost done with his bat. Robin hardly listened.

"Robin, you're up."

"I'm actually sat down, blondie."

"I mean, you're up." Clarke sighed at her blunt tone.

Robin still didn't get it.

"It's your turn," she nodded to the tent. Clarke missed how the girl's face paled. "Kid just finished, said you're next. Whoever it is, they really wanna talk. Think it's your dad?"

Unlikely.

Wordlessly, Robin stood up and adjusted her jacket. It was then that Clarke noticed how unwell she looked. Her eyes went to Jace, who sent her a grimace, and Clarke nodded slowly. "I can tell him you're busy?"

"You would?"

"Yeah," she said. "I don't really wanna talk to my mother, either. Long story," Clarke shrugged at Robin's curious face.

"I—" she debated it. It was tempting. "I'm good, princess." She finally decided, and even the words made her palms sweaty. "He'd only ask again, later." Robin pinched her brows, "I'm surprised he even asked, at all..." Maybe he didn't hate her?

"I see..." Clarke pursed her lips. Robin hated her, she knew that, but she could feel her hesitance. The same hesitance Clarke felt; the fear of it, and the anxiety. "You need somebody to go in, with you?"

Her lip twitched, "You offering?"

Clarke was serious.

"Only if you need me to."

Robin rolled her lips between her teeth and smacked them, hand coming up to rub at her nose as she sniffled. The air was cold, and it only felt colder since hearing that her father was waiting. Robin's heart thrummed in her chest and she suddenly craved to pull her hood over her head and dash into the woods. Grounders snatching her seemed less scary than facing her father. But, she probably had to do it eventually.

"Thanks, but no thanks." Robin walked straight past her.

It felt like years before she got to the tent. Before she entered, she stopped and sucked in a deep breath. Feeling dark eyes on her side profile, Robin stopped as she lifted the tarp and turned to the right with a frown. She spotted Dax not too far away, staring at her with a knife and rabbit in his hands. "Take a picture, asshole."

"I would," he shrugged.

Robin watched him pull the rabbit's skin away from the body, as he shoved the bloody knife in his pocket.

He winked.

She scoffed, "Creep."

Pushing the tarp fully aside, Robin ducked into the tent. Kids as unstable as Dax didn't intimidate her. Especially not when the most intimidating thing in Robin's eyes, was sat on the other side of that camera and headset.

Pain demanded to be felt, she breathed.

Robin decided to rip off the bandaid with her chin tilted high, a flicker of determination in her eyes. She marched over to the seat.

"Dad," she spoke formally, placing the headset over her head as she slipped into the seat. Robin didn't look at the monitor; she had a feeling she would crumble if she looked at him, and Robin had a large aversion to breaking down. Instead, she played with the piece of thread that stitched her pants back together, a short piece that Octavia hadn't cut of. She cleared her throat and pushed her arms back, "I won't stay long, but you should probably know I'm alive. I know you don't—"

"It's not your father, Robin."

Her head shot up, and she squinted at the screen.

"Who the hell are you?" Robin frowned. He looked familiar, in a strange way. "Where's my father?"

"Outside, waiting. You can speak to him after."

"Tell him not to bother," she scoffed. Crossing her arms, Robin leaned back in her seat and stared him down. Guard uniform. Slicked hair. He oddly reminded Robin of Bellamy Blake. "Who are you?"

"You don't remember?" The man chuckled, but it held no real sense of humour. "Interesting. I would have thought you might remember the guard who arrested you. Most do." So, that was why he seemed familiar. "Look kid, I'm not here to talk. I'm here because I know you aimed a gun at the head of Clarke Griffin. Brave behaviour."

"What's it to you?"

"I'm here to offer you a proposition," he said.

"Right," Robin squinted. She wasn't certain what proposition a guardsman would have to offer her. They weren't on the ark, guards had no say in what happened on the ground; and, even when they were on the ark, Robin had nothing to do with the guard. Only the speed to outrun them. The guard were a bunch of rats. Robin was wary from the second she spotted the badge stitched to his jacket. She squared up and clenched her jaw, defensively. The guardsman sent her a smug smile, and it made her angry. Her tone was harsh, and choppy; "And what could you possibly have to offer me?"

He leant in.

"A chance to kill Bellamy Blake."

————

   Alula Heathers didn't have many friends, in camp.

   Not enough to hear her name being called by Robin Loxely, that is. She didn't even know Robin. That was why it was so confusing, and why Alula frowned at the girl now approaching her when kids pointed her out.

    "Alula Heathers?"

    "Uh—" she mumbled, "Can I help you?"

    "No," Robin rolled her eyes. It made Alula's face drop, twisting into a scowl, and she wondered what made Robin so snarky. They had never spoken, before. Was it her? Something she did? Just that thought confused her. She didn't think it was her. Robin looked the most stressed she had yet to be seen. Her ponytail was messy, hairs that framed her face were frizzy, and her cheeks were red. On and off, she would look behind her. Like someone was watching, or like she had somewhere she needed to be. Weird. "It's your turn. You've got someone on the radio, waiting for you." She explained, "Looks like fun."

    "Thanks," Alula scoffed at the sarcasm in her tone. She stood up from the log she was perched on, watching Robin rush off. "Jeez."

   Instead of questioning it any further, Alula made for the tent. It had been flooded with delinquents all morning, and she had been waiting a while for her chance to talk.

Her parents were from factory.

Mother was a seamstress, and her dad worked in manufacturing; they were a close family. Even after what she had done to be tossed in the skybox, they had still loved her. She supposed she was pretty lucky in that sense, compared to others. Like her childhood — and only — friend, Zoe Monroe. Her family were... quite dysfunctional.

That was why they were good friends. Neighbours, too. Monroe always came over for dinner when the Heathers family learned she was starving. Her parents usually gave over her rations in return of moonshine and illegal highs. They were total scumbags.

   Their quarters were a dark place. Darker than Alula's own, and it was a place for no kid. Monroe was a good kid. She hadn't been the most lucky in life, and their friendship was the only good thing. Other than being sent to the ground, that is — which shouldn't be a good thing since they had been sent to die but it hadn't ended up pretty decent. At least, Alula and Monroe thought so. Until people in camp started dying.

   Not so good.

   She walked into the tent, eyeing the headset with a grin. Alula's hands reached for it as she sat down.

    "Alula Heathers."

   Her face dropped, "Shumway?"

    "Long time, no see." Alula looked at the monitor and, sure enough, it was him. His smile was sinister and callous, and she felt her body stiffen. Shumway was the same as she remembered. "You look well."

    "Where's my mom and dad?" She cut to the chase.

    "Nobody told you?"

    "Told me, what?" Alula felt her heart stoop, fingers twitching at her sides. She didn't know what he was talking about, and he had a feeling that she didn't want to know. Especially not from Shumway — she didn't trust a word, he said.

    "The culling in Section-17." He said, "Your mother and father gave their lives so children could live. Heroic. They wanted you to know they loved yo—"

    "Shut up!" Alula snapped at him, her fists clenched at her sides. She didn't want to hear it from him. Her parents were dead and this man was trying to play messenger. They hated Shumway — and she hated Shumway, also. "You don't get to tell me that! You don't! You put in the lockup, when you knew those guards—!"

    "Knew they, what?"

   Alula fell silent, panting.

    "You killed those guards, mercilessly."

    "No," she shook her head, teary eyed.

   Her throat burned when she swallowed, the lump growing. Alula could feel hands on her shirt, then on her leg, and on her neck in a tight chokehold.

   Alula's hands were behind her back, then above her head, and it felt like cold metal was pressed to her face. Everything ached and a paralysing fear washed over her. A moment passed and she was on the ark, another moment she was being dragged into lockup. Alula had sticky hands. Blood. Blood on her skin, on her clothes, her neck and her collarbone.

    "I need you to do something for me." Shumway told her. When Alula scowled, he smirked lowly at her.

    "Why the hell would I?"

"Because I can make sure that, when the ark gets to the ground, you aren't thrown in a cell and floated." He cut her off. It made her fall silent, so quiet you could hear a pin drop, and that made the guard fill with satisfaction. He was poisonous, Alula knew that all too well, but it was a tempting offer. There was no trusting Shumway — he once told her that he would get her off the hook, before. Shumway told her that he would get the council to listen to her, because he knew the truth because he had been there and seen what happened, and it wouldn't result in her being floated for her crimes. But, when time came to it, Alula's review the week before her birthday hadn't gone as desired. Not like he had promised it would. She was to float for her crimes on her eighteenth birthday; two days after they were sent to the ground. That offer hadn't been fulfilled on his end.

"We were pardoned."

"You won't be."

"I don't believe you," she hissed.

"You should."

"Why?"

"Because they won't let a murderer walk free."

He was right. Of course he was right— it made her laugh, bitter and wet, and Alula wanted to smack him through the screen. Dick.

"What is it?"

She knew she would regret asking. As soon as he parted his lips, she knew she was screwed. Screwed to holy hell. Alula squeezed a fist and tried to focus on the possibility of living freely. Alula tried not to grieve, also. Not in front of damn Shumway.

"I made an offer similar to yours, to another delinquent. She denied it." He explained, "Now, I need you to do damage control. Find Dax. Tell him that the plans have doubled."

"Damage control?" She gulped.

"His job is to take down Bellamy Blake. My other choice didn't accept my invite, so you need to take her role." Shumway told her. Alula frowned at the mention of Bellamy, camp king? Why would Shumway want the man murdered? It had to be for Shumway — Dax was a killer, she knew he had murdered a man, but she also knew he had no issues with Bellamy.

Bellamy.

He had jacked the radio. Her parents could have lived if the culling was called off, but it wasn't because he had jacked the radio. Bellamy goddamn Blake. Seeing her face twist into a dark glower, Shumway smirked. "Good. Task number two will be harder. I need you to stop my other recruit — she has valuable knowledge on this. She's a liability and I need her gone, ASAP. Do you accept?"

"I—"

He noticed her hesitance, "I can make you a free woman, Heathers."

"I'm in," she nodded. "Who's the other target?"

"Robin Loxely."

 
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